


Beloved Adversary, Part Three

by Sondra



Series: Beloved Adversary [3]
Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-07
Updated: 2012-08-07
Packaged: 2017-11-11 15:18:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/479909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sondra/pseuds/Sondra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of Blake's rescue of Avon from Servalan, efforts by the group to leave Gauda Prime for Ryanec 5 pick up speed. A long-time ally from the ranks of the rebellion becomes intimately involved, as does a once briefly encountered cybersurgeon. For now Blake is hatching plans to use the ability to surgically alter someone's appearance as part of an ingenious scheme to permanently destroy the Federation's Pylene-50 manufacturing program.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beloved Adversary, Part Three

I

 

"Are you certain, Orac?" Tarrant asked excitedly, with Dayna hanging on his arm and both of them hanging on the computer's every word.

*Well, of course I'm certain,* Orac replied testily. *Would I be wasting my valuable time reporting it to you if I weren't?*

Dayna chuckled. "I like that. Would it be wasting _its_ time? Not ours, but--"

Tarrant gestured to her to be quiet. "All right. Repeat the information once again. Slowly this time."

Orac obliged. *The space freighter _Zebulon_ left Ryanec 5 at precisely 0800 hours yesterday on a course heading for Gauda Prime. Traveling at its present speed of time distort 7, it should make planetfall in 9 days, 15 hours and 23 minutes. In accordance with my initial instructions, I have advised the computer on Iridian that the _Zebulon_ will pass through the Argulian star system in approximately 5 days, 11 hours and 37 minutes.*

"Was there a response from Iridian, Orac?" Dayna asked.

*There was.*

"Read it out for us," Tarrant instructed.

*Response reads as follows: 'Message received and understood. Request amended updates every 3 hours as to _Zebulon_ 's position, heading and speed. Advise Starchaser we are prepared to rendezvous with said ship as previously agreed. Would appreciate direct voice and visual contact prior to rendezvous so that post-rendezvous details may be clarified. Will keep you advised of our position and recommended transmission frequency once space-borne. All indirect transmissions will be filed under the heading Purple Sphere to confirm authenticity of source. Iridian out'.*

Dayna turned to Tarrant. "Did you understand all that?"

"Most of it," the pilot answered. "'Starchaser' is Blake. 'Purple Sphere' has something to do with that time he rescued Avalon from the Federation." Then, turning to the computer, "Orac, have you been complying with Iridian's request for updates on the _Zebulon_?"

*Yes, certainly.*

"Have there been acknowledgements each time?"

*There have.*

"Have all acknowledgements made mention of Purple Sphere?"

*They have.*

"All right. Continue transmitting _Zebulon_ 's position, heading and speed to Iridian and advise Blake or myself when you receive confirmation that the Purple Sphere transmission source is off-planet and headed for rendezvous with the freighter."

*Understood,* acknowledged Orac.

Tarrant and Dayna left the computer to its task and sat down. "Shouldn't we be telling Blake?" the woman asked.

"I will shortly," her companion replied. "I wanted to see if we might come up with something for him first."

Dayna frowned. "What do you mean? What kind of something?"

"Avalon requested a direct contact prior to her hijacking the Federation freighter. Obviously she doesn't want to commit herself to that course of action without knowing precisely how the next stage of the plan is going to work."

"You mean how we're going to manage it so the _Zebulon_ can pick us up before departing Gauda Prime again?"

"Exactly."

"Well, if the Federation is to believe the ship is still under their control," Dayna reasoned, "it can't very well deviate from its expected course to come for us, so--"

" _We'll_ have to go to _it_ ," Tarrant cut in.

"That means getting back on the base somehow."

"Or at least the landing silos."

Dayna sighed. "Maybe Avon will think of something."

"Just once," Tarrant said, "I would like for it _not_ to be Avon, wouldn't you?"

"Well, yes, but--"

"So think. You've got a brain. We both do."

"And two normal brains should be equal to one of Avon's?"

"Very funny."

"What we need," Dayna mused, her chin resting on her hands, "is a capacity-charged brain. We need the Sopron rock. We need--"

Suddenly Tarrant snapped his fingers. "Not Sopron," he exclaimed, "Kairopan."

Dayna looked at him, a slow smile of comprehension spreading across her face. "Are you thinking what I think you're thinking?"

He grabbed her hand and pulled her up from the table with him.

"Let's go find Blake."

As they left the computer room, Dayna muttered under her breath, "I just hope Vila isn't still suffering from claustrophobia."

*****

Roj Blake sat alone by the fireplace, silently giving thanks to the Powers That Be for Avon's continued recovery. It was now well over a week since the night Servalan had tortured and tried to murder him, and there was no longer any doubt that Avon would recover fully.

The turning point had come on the third day following the rescue when his fever finally broke for good, indicating that the enhanced doses of antibiotics were winning out over the infection. It had been Soolin's idea to switch from the _Scorpio_ stock of all-purpose antimicrobials to the ones she had taken from the medical supply room at the base. She reasoned that since these were specific for bacteria indigenous to Gauda Prime, they would stand a better chance of working, and she'd been proven right. But until then, it had been "touch-and-go". The worst, Blake recalled now, had been that very first day, during the first few hours after they'd all gotten safely back to the farmhouse...

*****

...Avon had barely been made comfortable in his bed when Soolin  announced that if there was to be any hope at all of defeating the infection, the wound which was the source of it would have to be thoroughly probed for foreign matter and thoroughly flushed out with antiseptic solution.

For the briefest instant Blake saw a look in Avon's eyes that he'd never thought to see there in a dozen lifetimes: a look of pure visceral protest at the prospect of pain beyond his endurance, a look that pleaded for mercy without shame or apology, a look that whimpered the "no more" he had never whimpered to Servalan...

Immediately it had come, it was gone, and Blake knew Soolin had not seen it at all. "Does it have to be now?" he asked her quietly. "Couldn't it wait until tomorrow?"

"No, Blake, it can't," she insisted.

"A few more hours then," he bargained miserably, "at least until--"

"Until what? Until he's feeling stronger? Until the fever breaks? He's not _going_ to feel stronger, it's not _going_ to break _unless_ we do this." She touched his arm. "Blake, the infection's already gotten an alarming head start. It's too dangerous to wait. Surely you can see that."

"It's all right, Soolin," whispered Avon's voice from the bed. "I understand what you're saying."

Blake moved to his side. "Are you sure you can handle this now," he asked softly, "so soon after--?" ****

Avon sighed. "I don't have a choice, Blake. And it's not the same thing. That was torture by an enemy. This is necessary medical treatment by a--by an ally."

Soolin bristled at the mid-course correction. "See, Blake, he's more back to normal than you think," she sneered. "Excuse me." She left the room to fetch the needed equipment.

"Will your body know the difference?" Blake asked quietly.

"My _mind_ knows the difference," Avon replied.

"I realize she wants you to be awake," the other persisted, for Soolin's initial proclamation had included her concern about the possibility of head injury. "Still there might be some way to safely adjust the dose of tranquilizer--"

"So that my mind becomes so fuzzy that it _no longer_ knows the difference?" Avon cut in. "No, thank you."

"I'm just trying to help, Avon, to think of a way to make it less traumatic for you."

"Then stop fussing, Blake. For pity's sake, you act as if it were your pain."

I wish it could be, Avon, the rebel leader thought silently. I wish I could take it from you, bear it for you. For as long as he could remember, Blake had found the suffering of others harder to endure than his own. That the "other" in this case happened to be Avon only magnified that reaction, only intensified his desire to absorb the man's agony rather than witness it.

But the first was impossible, and Avon wasn't going to permit the second. He flatly refused Blake's offer to stay with him during the procedure, remarking, "You might be seized by an irresistible urge to hold my hand." That wasn't too far off the mark from what Blake had in mind, actually, but he realized that a _conscious_ Avon would never allow it--even if a _semi_ -conscious Avon had initiated it...

As he slipped out the door, Soolin reappeared, carrying a tray of medical supplies which, Blake thought grimly to himself, might as well have been torture implements. "I'll be as gentle as I can," she promised, seeing the desperation in his eyes, "and as comforting as he'll let me." How do you "gently" pour acid over an open wound and comb through it with forceps? his mind screamed back, but he would have sooner choked on the words than uttered them. Soolin really was a wonderful woman. He just hoped she knew how honored he felt that she'd wanted there to be more than friendship between them. "Wait downstairs, Blake," she said pointedly now. He nodded and left to comply with her wishes.

It didn't make that much difference, though. The farmhouse was hardly soundproof, and Avon's gasps of pain reverberated through the walls. The others, whom Blake had found already downstairs, couldn't handle it. Vila pressed his hands over his ears and fled out the front door. Tarrant and Dayna exhibited more external self-control, but nonetheless managed to remember something which _they_ needed to do outside as well.

So Blake sat there by himself, chewing on his fingers to keep from covering _his_ ears, forcing himself to endure at least this small shred of vicarious participation in Avon's pain. He drew what solace he could from the low, murmured tones of Soolin's reassuring voice interspersed with the outcries of agony. But whenever the sounds from upstairs turned into frank screams, he bit down so hard on his knuckles that he drew blood.

Through the window he caught a glimpse of Vila with Dayna and Tarrant. My troops, he reflected sadly. Ah, Avon, if you only realized what they _wouldn't_ do for me, what it would never even _occur_ to them to do for me. Avon wouldn't have walked out, he knew, if it had been one of the others up there and Avon had caught sight of Blake's face as he listened to whoever it was screaming in pain like that. Avon might not have offered a comforting word, much less a comforting touch, but at least he'd have stayed in the room--not left Blake alone with the anguish of his too-keen empathy...

And then all of a sudden he wasn't alone. Deva was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, looking at him. Deva whose admiration for him bordered on worship, but who had never let that admiration blind him to Blake's needs and who had no qualms about trying to meet those needs. Deva saw the tears on Blake's cheeks and watched Blake's body convulse in horror as Avon screamed yet again. Without a moment's hesitation Deva moved to Blake's side, wordlessly wrapped his arms around him, and held him gently until the horror from overhead ceased.

*****

And he wasn't alone now either. Emerging from his memory, Blake looked up to see Tarrant and Dayna looking down. "Sorry to intrude," the pilot began tentatively, "but we have some--" He broke off in mid-sentence and asked, "How's Avon?"

"Capable of answering that question himself if someone would take the trouble to go up to his room and ask it," Blake said wryly.

"No, what I mean is--will he be well enough to travel in, oh say, nine days?"

As the meaning of Tarrant's words sunk in, Blake rose to his feet and laid his hands on the younger man's shoulders. "Tell me," he demanded feverishly.

"A Federation cargo ship left Ryanec 5 for Gauda Prime yesterday," Tarrant related. "It will pass through the Argulian system in about five days. Orac is updating Avalon on its progress every three hours and all messages have been acknowledged."

With each phrase of Tarrant's report, Blake's smile had grown progressively wider. Now he could no longer contain himself and nearly suffocated the pilot in a bear hug. Left winded, Tarrant watched as Blake moved on to administer the same treatment to Dayna. Equal opportunity exuberance, he thought, utterly gender blind. But Dayna didn't seem to mind it in the least.

"There is one thing you should know, Blake," he added. "Avalon wants direct contact before the hijacking to clarify the subsequent stages of the plan."

"That's reasonable," the rebel leader agreed, heading for the staircase.

"Well, we've got one," Tarrant said proudly. "A plan, I mean--Blake, where are you going?"

"To tell Avon." He was already halfway up the stairs.

"Wait a minute," Tarrant called after him. "Don't you even want to hear our brilliant idea for how to rendezvous with the ship?"

"Later," came back the now disembodied voice.

Tarrant seethed visibly, an unspoken curse in his eyes. "Let him go," Dayna urged.

"You mean I have a choice?" The pilot stood at the foot of the steps and shouted upward sarcastically. " _We'll_ tell Vila and Soolin and Deva. Remember Vila and Soolin and Deva?"

"Tarrant!" Dayna squirmed, embarrassed at the thought that Blake might actually have heard him.

Tarrant came away from the steps but continued mumbling to himself. "Cowardly, drunken thief. Golden-haired gunfighter with an obsessive desire to jump your bones. Your assistant here on Gauda Prime for the past bloody year--"

"My God, you're jealous!" Dayna exclaimed in sudden realization. "You're jealous of _Avon_! Oh, that's adorable..." She flung her arms around his neck. "Don't worry, Tarrant," she cooed. "You'll always come first with me."

"He didn't even want to hear my plan for our get-away," Tarrant moped, disentangling himself from Dayna's embrace. "All he could think of was telling Avon."

Dayna smiled. "You know, one really can't blame him," she said quietly. "He doesn't know himself how much longer this can last."

"Who doesn't know how much longer what can last?" inquired a new voice as Vila walked in from the kitchen, noisily munching a piece of fruit.

"Blake doesn't know how much longer this truce with Avon can last," Dayna clarified. "I mean, they haven't exchanged a seriously cross word since the morning Blake rescued him from what Servalan had left him to. It's positively unreal. Oh, by the way, we're leaving for Ryanec 5 in nine days."

Vila had been nodding in response to Dayna's words. At this last disclosure, he swallowed a pit and began coughing furiously.

Suddenly Tarrant looked at Dayna and said, "Let's bet."

"What?" the woman responded.

"Let's have a pool." She continued to stare at him blankly. "It's an old Earth custom," he explained. "We each make a prediction as to when Blake and Avon will have their next fight, and we each put a certain number of credits into the pool. The person who comes closest to guessing correctly wins it all. What do you say? Think we could get Soolin and Deva in on it?"

"Deva? Not a chance," Dayna laughed. "And I wouldn't count on Soolin either. She's become awfully righteous lately where Blake is concerned."

Vila, who had finally stopped coughing, looked from one to the other. "I don't believe my ears," he exclaimed. "Listen to yourselves. What you're proposing is wrong, it's immoral, it's disgusting..." Then a mercenary glint of anticipation appeared in his eyes. "How much do you suggest we each bet?"

*****

Avon sat in his bed, absorbed in a computer game he'd designed for himself to help pass the time during his convalescence. There was a knock at the door. "Come in, Blake," he invited and looked up as the other man stepped into the room with an expression of astonishment on his face.

"How did you know it was me?" Blake asked.

Avon smiled. "Lying here for a week, one learns to distinguish footsteps. Yours are unmistakable."

"As long as it wasn't my scent," Blake responded, pulling up a chair.

"No comment," Avon murmured.

Blake's face conveyed make-believe irritation at the make-believe insult. Then he looked at the gameboard. "You're losing," he declared.

"Thanks so much for not noticing," Avon returned.

"It's terribly obvious."

"Yes, well, I programmed it, so whichever side wins, it's actually I who--"

"But _you're_ losing," Blake insisted. "How are you going to get out of it?"

"I'm not. There's no way out."

"Let's see." Blake studied the gameboard. Avon studied Blake with good-natured amusement. All at once Blake reached across and made a series of rapid moves. "There!" he proclaimed smugly.

Avon's amused expression turned to one of consternation. "Blake, you changed the parameters," he declared in disbelief.

"Uh-huh."

"Well, you can't do that. You can't just walk into the middle of someone else's game and change the parameters." Their eyes met, and suddenly both pairs of eyes were twinkling with the same unspoken realization. Avon lifted the game board off the bed and laid it aside. "What can I do for you, Blake?" he asked.

"For starters, you can tell me you'll be well enough to travel by around this time next week."

Avon looked perplexed. "Why? Where am I going?"

Blake grinned broadly. " _We_ are going to pick up that new shirt I owe you."

Avon exhaled explosively. "For real?"

"Sure looks that way."

"In a week, you say?"

"Nine days, to be precise."

"You have it straight from Orac."

"Well, from Orac via Tarrant. Don't worry," he added, seeing Avon's sudden cautionary look. "I promise I'll speak with Orac myself. But I'm sure it will turn out to be exactly as Tarrant described it. He's not a fool, Avon."

"No," the other agreed quietly, "he's not."

"So--will you be up to it?"

"Leaving Gauda Prime in nine days?" Avon made a gesture of acquiescence. "I shall simply have to be." He smiled. "To tell you the truth, I can't say I'm going to miss this place."

"You haven't had any happy memories here, I realize," Blake remarked.

"Well, no, except for--" Avon broke off abruptly. "Hardly any," he agreed.

"You know something?" Blake returned. "I haven't had too many either. Well, except for--" He, too, aborted expression of the thought. "Being a bounty hunter was hard, Avon. It was grim. Even though I wasn't _really_ a bounty hunter--told myself I wasn't, anyway..." His voice trailed off; he seemed lost in a cloud of poignant regret.

"You weren't, Blake," Avon said earnestly. "You couldn't have been. No more than you could have been a child molester."

"Why, Avon," Blake exclaimed, touched and surprised, "I've never heard you sound so sure of me."

Avon looked mildly uncomfortable. " _I've_ never heard me sound so sure of you either," he admitted.

For a moment Blake allowed himself to revel in the pure bliss of it. Then he felt the stirrings of internal conflict. There was something he wanted to ask Avon, something he'd been putting off asking him, and he wondered now if to ask would be to jeopardize this idyllic harmony between them. Vila's words on the afternoon of the quarrel that had driven Avon into Servalan's hands walked unbidden through his mind: "Avon's the most intoxicated of the lot. He just handles the hangovers badly is all." If Avon's decision to leave them (now thankfully rescinded) was the "hangover" following the "intoxication" of the sacrifice he'd made interrogating Arlen, what further hangover might lay in store in the wake of his own brutal interrogation by Servalan? Blake couldn't imagine and didn't want to know. Vila can't be right forever, he told himself, halfway between wishful and convinced. There has to be an end to it someday. Maybe this _is_ the end. Maybe--

"Blake?" Avon's questioning voice brought him back to the present moment. "Blake, you have the most God-awful unreadable expression on your face. What monumentally misguided scheme is that ideal-infested brain of yours hatching now?"

Blake smiled at the easy-going, undisguised affection in Avon's tone. "Actually--none at all," he replied. "I merely have some questions about the night Servalan held you prisoner."

In a flash the air of relaxation vanished, to be replaced by a guarded expression that seemed to say, "Here it comes. Brace yourself." What Avon actually said was, "Blake, I've already told you everything I could of strategic significance about that night."

"Indeed you have," the other acknowledged. "You told me Servalan didn't know we knew about Ryanec 5 the first time you regained consciousness in the woods. And you told me about the Federation's plan to use the snake toxin and about why Servalan was here in the first place--at least why she said she was here--and what time she left Gauda Prime--or said she was going to do. Avon, you debriefed yourself to me those first couple of days, during that raging fever, every time you opened your eyes and didn't remember that you already had done."

The man in the bed squirmed with mounting embarrassment. It didn't help that he _was_ in the bed, that he couldn't flee physically without making it painfully obvious that fleeing was precisely his intention. "So what else could you possibly wish to know?" he demanded.

"Why she did it," Blake answered quietly.

"Come again."

"Why Servalan did that to you--the carimbula routine."

"Does she need a reason?"

"Yes." Blake's mocking laugh at his paltry effort to dodge the question reminded Avon of his parallel failure to put Servalan off with that transparent lie about Blake being "off-planet". "Killing you outright I can understand," the rebel leader continued. "Taking you away from here to a more sophisticated interrogation center I can understand. But something so grotesque--"

"What can I tell you?" Avon shrugged. "She's a grotesque person."

"Avon--"

"Blake, if you don't mind, I'd rather not discuss it." And now he did get up off the bed.

"But I _do_ mind, and we're _going_ to discuss it."

Avon shook his head. "You're as bad as she is. You won't take no for an answer." Then he stopped and swallowed hard as their eyes met and he realized he'd given half the game away.

"What exactly did you say 'no' to?" Blake inquired pointedly. He was met with total silence. "I asked you a question!"

"She--asked me a question," Avon responded quietly. Why, in all the galaxies, did Blake have to pin him down like this? Surely he already knew? Surely there was nothing to be gained by trotting it out for display? What could the man _think_ Servalan had been asking? How many bunny rabbits are born in a bloody litter?

"'Where's Blake?'" The sound of those two words again, even in this most different of all possible voices, sent a shudder through him, and he hugged himself protectively. "That's it, isn't it?" Blake pressed, drawing confirmation from the nonverbal gesture. "She was looking for me, and the snake was her last-ditch effort to get you to talk. She wanted you to lead her to me, and you refused, so--" He broke off with an anguished gasp, which rapidly gave way to a silent seething rage.

Avon couldn't bear the sight of it. "Oh, lighten up, Blake," he scolded. "I tried to do a deal with her. I offered her an apple instead. I suppose the snake was her idea of poetic justice."

"Oh, Avon," the other man exclaimed. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry."

Avon sighed with exasperation. "Not as sorry as you're _going_ to be if you don't stop looking at me like that. Honestly, Blake, you can't just have figured this out."

Blake shrugged helplessly. "I suppose not," he admitted. "I suppose I knew at some level. But I wasn't really facing it--didn't want to face it. Didn't want to face the guilt." Now Blake understood why it had been so hard to listen to Avon moaning in pain as Soolin cleaned his wound, why the urge to trade places with him had been so strong, beyond all normal expectations of love and empathy...

And Avon just stood there, shaking his head in amazement twice over--amazed that he could still _be_ amazed, after all this time, at the paradox that was Roj Blake. The man had an unparalleled knack for inspiring others to risk everything for him, then when they did, reacted with utter astonishment to the consequences. And it wasn't a put-on. It was all for real. Whatever Avon had believed, even at the height of his cynicism about Blake's stage-managing the aftermath of Gan's death, he had never doubted for an instant that Blake would have traded his own life for Gan's. He certainly never doubted that Blake would die for _him_ \--that seemingly idiotic plan to reach for the carimbula with a stick was just the latest in a long series of proofs. Nor had the plan been as irrational as it had appeared at the time. Blake knew he was risking an unspeakably horrible death, but Blake also knew he was wearing a tracking device: he no doubt reasoned that Tarrant and the others would come looking for him when they failed to hear from him and couldn't raise him on their communicators. They would find him, paralyzed and dying in agony, but they would find Avon at the same time, alive...

It wouldn't have worked, Blake, he thought tenderly now. The snake would have finished with you and come after me, all the same, lured by Servalan's bait. But you didn't know about the shiloma extract so it did make sense. If a universe in which Kerr Avon survives at the price of Roj Blake's life could ever make sense...

"I am so sorry, Avon," Blake repeated. "And I'm sorry I shot you," he added absurdly.

Avon gaped at him. "Sorry you shot me?" he echoed. "That was just a scratch. For pity's sake, you saved my life, Blake."

" _We_ saved your life," Blake corrected, sitting down in an effort to maneuver the "patient" back to bed. "I couldn't have done it without your cooperation, your icy cold self-control and your--words of encouragement to me."

"Even the insulting ones?" Avon asked, resuming his seat.

"Especially the insulting ones," Blake said with a grin.

Avon smiled, too. "Glad to be of help."

"You did something you've never done before, you know," Blake remarked lightly.

"What might that be?" Avon inquired. His tone was similarly casual, and he didn't meet Blake's eyes.

"You called me by my first name."

"Did I?"

"You know you did," Blake said emphatically. By dropping the feigned detachment, he was forcing his companion to do likewise.

"All right," Avon acknowledged, finally looking at him. "I sensed that you needed that kind of--I don't know--warmth, token of my confidence in you. Blake, I needed for you to have whatever you needed to save my life. That's all there was to it, okay?"

"If you say so." Blake paused, realizing how smug that must have sounded, but deciding he didn't care. "Avon, I'm not criticizing you," he continued softly. "I would have done just about anything to save your life. Seeing you in that kind of jeopardy--you can't know what it did to me."

"Well, I don't plan to make a habit of it," the other man retorted.

"Being in jeopardy or calling me by my first name?"

"Either one."

Blake sighed. "I didn't really expect that you would."

"Good," Avon barked. "I'm glad that's clear."

"Good," Blake barked back. "I'm glad you're glad."

"And another thing," Avon added sternly. "I've agreed to go along with you to Ryanec 5. But make no mistake. I intend to continue to let you know whenever I think you are leading us down quixotic paths to illusory goals."

"Good," Blake snarled again in the same forceful tone. "Because _I_ intend to continue to count on it." He stood up and headed for the door.

Avon opened his mouth to issue a blistering rejoinder, then realized _what_ Blake had said and burst out laughing instead.

In the doorway, with his back to Avon, Blake stood smiling mischievously. "Anything else?" he inquired. "Because if not, I've a spot of fence-mending to attend to with Tarrant."

"Well, actually, there is one small matter of curiosity," Avon ventured with crafted indifference.

"Yes?" Blake prompted without turning around.

"When I was with Servalan, she acted as if she were very confident that she was going to find you, irrespective of my reluctance to assist her, and she said that when she finally caught up with you, she was going to tell you that I had revealed your location to her."

"Sounds like Servalan."

Avon squirmed uncomfortably, grateful for the moment that Blake wasn't looking at him. "Is that all you have to say? 'Sounds like Servalan'?"

Now Blake began to catch on, and he wished he _were_ looking at Avon--he was dying to see the expression on the man's face--but he chose not to indulge that whim for he didn't want Avon to see his. "What would you like me to say?" he asked innocently.

"Well, you know," Avon answered, with somewhat less than his customary fluency, "if you'd never found me, never knew what happened to me, and then _she_ found _you_ and told you that was _how_ she'd found you, I was just wondering what your reaction would have been."

Blake smiled deliciously. "Why?  Is it important to you?"

"No, it's not important to me." The exaggeratedly nonchalant tone of Avon's denial loudly proclaimed its insincerity. With a shrug, the rebel leader moved forward through the open door into the hall. "Blake!" Avon thundered in utter exasperation.

Satisfied he'd unmasked the pretense, Blake turned around and marched all the way back to Avon's bedside. "All right," he said quietly. "My reaction would have been that one more lie in a long list of lies told by a congenital liar could hardly cause a ripple."

He paused, reaching out to straighten the collar of Avon's pajamas. "On the other hand, every lie told by an honest man weighs heavily indeed."

Avon flinched, felt his cheeks grow warm, and averted his eyes from those of the man in front of him.

Blake bent down, picked up the computer game and placed it on Avon's lap. "Enjoy yourself," he said lightly, finally managing to capture Avon's gaze, then added with a smile, "It's entirely in your hands now whether or not to restore the old parameters."

The look Avon gave him in return was as noncommittal as the look Avon had given him on board the _Liberator_ after Star One. Well, why not? Blake thought. "I have always trusted you" and "I would always trust you" are not such terribly different assertions. He was still trying to analyze that look and what it portended as he went downstairs in search of Tarrant.

 

II

 

"Space Freighter _Zebulon_ calling Gauda Prime Central Control. This is Captain Malkar speaking.  Come in Gauda Prime."

The voice sounding through the communications console was by no means unexpected and drew the attention of both the Base Commander and her high-ranking Federation visitor. "This is Gauda Prime Central Control," she replied. "Base Commander Arlen speaking. Welcome, Captain Malkar. You're right on schedule."

"Thank you, Base Commander," Malkar responded. "We are honored by your personal attention to our arrival. We should be ready to land in 15.6 minutes."

" _Zebulon_ , you are cleared to land in Silo #3 at the indicated time. Please state any special requirements you may have."

"No requirements as such, Base Commander. Our cargo is ready for immediate unloading. One question if we might--"

"Go ahead, _Zebulon_."

"Is the reconstituted mining equipment for Altern 5 ready to be loaded on immediately we land?"

Arlen frowned in total non-comprehension, as did the elegantly attired woman standing just behind her. "Say again, _Zebulon_ ," she requested.

"We are carrying a requisition from the governing council on Altern 5 for four crates of reconstituted mining equipment," Malkar reiterated. "I was given to understand the cargo would be waiting for us when we arrived."

Arlen continued to look puzzled. "Stand by, please," she instructed and temporarily switched off the channel to the freighter. "Commissioner?" she inquired.

"It sounds somewhat irregular," Servalan commented. "Why don't you see what your computer banks indicate?"

Arlen moved to comply. "Of course the reference to this shipment is already deliberately misclassified," she muttered, pushing the appropriate buttons. "Ah, there it is."

Servalan looked at the screen where Arlen was pointing. "Four crates of refurbished mining equipment for the selsium ore processing plant on Altern 5," she read out with a shrug. "Well, it is en route to Ryanec 5. Wouldn't require much of a detour to make the stop. And Gauda Prime certainly has a surplus of left-over mining equipment. I suppose it makes sense."

Arlen moved from the data display back to the communications console. "Base Commander to landing silo loading dock. Acknowledge, please."

"Section Leader Vargo," came the response.

"Section Leader, have you received a consignment of old mining equipment to be put aboard the Space Freighter _Zebulon_?"

"No, Ma'am, but I'm expecting one," Vargo replied. "The processing plant contacted us earlier today to say they'd be sending it--wait a minute, I think--yes, it's here now."

Servalan motioned Arlen aside. "Section Leader, this is Commissioner Sleer. What does the cargo look like?"

"Four large packing crates, Commissioner," Vargo told her. "They bear the logo of the processing plant. They have a Federation escort, and they're requesting admission to the loading dock. Is anything wrong?"

Servalan looked at Arlen. "A Federation escort _would_ be required for anything entering the silos while the _Zebulon_ was in bay," the Base Commander pointed out.

Servalan nodded. "No, Section Leader," she replied, "nothing is wrong. Let them through."

Arlen re-opened the channel to the approaching space craft. " _Zebulon_ , this is Gauda Prime Central Control. Sorry to keep you waiting. Your cargo for Altern 5 has just arrived. Please proceed with landing as instructed." She glanced at her chrono. "See you in 12.4 minutes."

"Thank you, Gauda Prime," responded Malkar's voice. " _Zebulon_ out."

Arlen switched off the communications console and turned to her superior. "Shouldn't be long now."

Servalan smiled. "Very conscientious of you to oversee this personally."

"It's very important cargo," Arlen said solemnly. "And I _am_ the one who lost what it's replacing."

"You didn't exactly 'lose' it, Arlen," the other woman pointed out. "It was taken from you."

"Gracious of you to say so, Commissioner."

"Not at all. There was nothing you could have done about it." Servalan took a seat.

"There should have been," Arlen insisted, joining her. "We outnumbered them two to one."

Servalan smiled again. "Yes, but 'they' included Roj Blake and Kerr Avon."

"So?"

"So either Roj Blake or Kerr Avon alone makes for a formidable opponent. With Roj Blake and Kerr Avon together, odds of _ten_ to one might not be sufficient."

" _Are_ they together?" Arlen mused out loud.

"Oh, yes," Servalan responded. "If I had any doubts about that, they vanished when I interrogated Avon. They're together--or _were_ together."

"Avon's really dead then?"

"I'm not entirely certain." Something in Servalan's voice told Arlen the woman wasn't entirely displeased at not being entirely certain either. "When I returned to Gauda Prime after the Federation conference, his body wasn't where I expected it to be."

"Blake found him!"

"Someone found him. It may have been Blake. That idea isn't entirely without appeal. The question is: did he find him before or after--and how much after?"

"Before or after what?"

"Ah, I didn't tell you."

"You just said that you'd devised an exotic means of executing him."

"Exotic, yes." Servalan glowed as she relived the memory of it. "I left him in the dark of night bound hand and foot to a tree, with a sleeping carimbula curled around one shoe and shiloma plant extract smeared all over his face." Arlen went suddenly pale, struggling to suppress a troubling memory of her own. "So, you see," Servalan continued, "I wouldn't mind at all if Blake did find him, provided it happened late enough in the game for Avon's spirit to be totally broken first. Yes, I rather relish the thought of Blake realizing that Avon is dying and that the only thing left he can do for him is to end it more quickly. I can just picture it: Blake holding a gun to Avon's head with one hand, stroking Avon's face with the other, tears streaming down his cheeks... His followers volunteer to do the awful deed for him, but he refuses. 'We can share the grief and pain of Avon's death,' he says, 'but I will not share the guilt'." Servalan emitted a little chuckle.  "Blake's so disconcertingly noble, you see..."

"Yes," Arlen agreed quietly. "He is." She paused and took a deep breath. "When you interrogated Avon, did he tell you anything interesting?"

"Avon's always interesting," Servalan answered, fleetingly noticing Arlen's anxiety. "If you mean 'did he talk?'--No."

"Not at all?" the other pressed.

"No," Servalan repeated, and was perplexed to observe that the Base Commander looked relieved.

"Well, I can't say I'm surprised," Arlen remarked. "He looked the type to withstand a great deal of--persuasion." She swallowed uncomfortably, adding, "I hope you made him suffer, though."

"Oh, yes," Servalan assured her. "Even Avon has nerve endings."

"Good."

"You really have it in for him, don't you?"

"And you don't?" Arlen's face grew red as she realized she may have overstepped her bounds. "I'm sorry, Commissioner. It's just that considering _how_ exotic your method of execution was--"

"That's quite all right," Servalan purred reassuringly. "I quite understand your difficulty in perceiving what I did as a routine means of interrogation."

Arlen's eyes bulged in disbelief. "Interrogation? That? You mean you--"

"I mean I gave Kerr Avon one last chance to lead me to Blake."

"Did he know? Did he fully understand what _kind_ of death--?"

"Oh, yes, he knew. He understood."

"And he accepted _that_ rather than betray Blake?"

"You see now why I said they were together," Servalan concluded.

"That's--incredible," Arlen stammered. "That's absolutely beyond belief."

"Yes, isn't it?" Servalan cooed.

A bleep from the communications console jolted both of them back to the business at hand. "This is Captain Malkar of the Space Freighter _Zebulon_ announcing our arrival from Ryanec 5. We are secure in Landing Silo Three and are ready to unload our cargo."

Arlen reached over and flipped the appropriate switch. "Welcome to Gauda Prime, Captain," she said. "Commissioner Sleer and myself will be with you presently. Arlen out." She rose from her seat, effected a polite "after you" gesture in Servalan's direction, and followed the woman from the tracking gallery.

*****

At the landing silo loading dock, the first priority was unloading the cargo from Ryanec 5. Section Leader Vargo and his men assisted the indistinguishably-attired crew of the _Zebulon_ in removing the deep space shipping crates containing the Pylene-50 and transferring them immediately to the base's newly-acquired refrigeration unit.

The much-larger shipping crates bearing the logo of Gauda Prime's foremost mining consortium stood waiting on the sidelines, guarded by two men in the same black uniforms--the Federation escort Vargo had alluded to. Arlen looked over the requisition slip from Altern 5 and, finding it in order, handed it back to Capt. Malkar. Servalan watched the comings-and-goings with her usual regal detachment.

When all the Pylene-50 had been removed and carted off to the storage facilities prepared for it on the base, the guards in charge of the mining equipment began wheeling their four crates one at a time onto the ship. These boxes measured approximately one meter on each side and stood some 180 centimeters tall.

"So, Captain," Servalan addressed him, "aren't you going to invite us aboard your ship?"

"There's nothing I'd like better, Commissioner," Malkar said lavishly. "But we are only a freighter, you know, ill-prepared to receive and entertain such an illustrious personage as yourself."

Servalan smiled. "In that case, won't you be my guest for dinner here at the base before you depart?"

Malkar cast what he hoped was a not-too-nervous look in the direction of the fourth crate being wheeled on board the _Zebulon_. "Dinner, Commissioner? How very kind of you. I'm terribly afraid, though, that I shall have to decline your most gracious invitation."

"Why is that?" A thinly concealed snarl interjected itself into the woman's voice.

"Why, our schedule, of course, Madam," Malkar said placatingly. "The extra stop-over at Altern 5."

"And you can't get to Altern 5 a few hours late?"

Now the ship's doors closed behind the last of the crates, and the two Federation guards from the mining company saluted Arlen crisply and departed. Malkar fidgeted uneasily and drew closer to Servalan. "Well, I could, yes, certainly," he whispered. "But, to tell you the truth--if I may speak frankly, Commissioner?"

"By all means, Captain."

"I have a spot of personal business to attend to on Altern 5." He effected an air of semi-flirtatious embarrassment. "There is a certain young lady who works at the selsium ore processing plant with whom I've arranged, shall we say, a rendezvous? I fear she might not understand if I were 'a few hours late'."

"Oh, I see."

"Mind you, she's not as elegant as your illustrious self," Malkar hastened to add. "But for a poor, humble space captain of my age and rank and less-than-perfect external attributes, she's quite marvelously suitable."

Servalan kept nodding through this awkward speech, enjoying every instant of her companion's discomfort. "And you wouldn't want to disappoint her."

"I'm so grateful that you understand," Malkar murmured.

"Very well, Captain," Servalan conceded. "There's always next time--if I happen to be on planet."

She offered him her hand, and he kissed it chivalrously. "If not, it will be my loss and my regret."

Now Arlen stepped forward and extended her hand, but not in remotely the same manner. "Good meeting you, Captain Malkar," she said. "Have a safe journey home."

"Thank you, Base Commander," he responded in a similar, no-nonsense tone. "Always happy to be of service to the Federation." He disappeared through the same doors through which the mining equipment crates had been received.

Arlen and Servalan returned to the tracking gallery where Arlen completed the protocol of top-level attention to the _Zebulon_ by personally clearing the ship for take-off. The two women monitored the freighter as it lifted out of the landing silo and tracked it through authorized navigation pathways until it departed the planet's atmosphere. It had been on the surface of Gauda Prime for just under one hour.

*****

The instant the ship moved beyond Gauda Prime's defensive perimeter--and the possibility of visual scanners tracking it from the base--the "Federation" crew which had moved the Pylene-50 off and the mining equipment crates on underwent a miraculous metamorphosis: Black uniforms and helmets were stripped off and cast aside. And Captain Malkar yielded his position of authority to an auburn-haired woman who appeared amidst the flurry of activity on the flight deck.

"Okay, everyone," said Avalon to her band of rebels. "Let's go get them out of there."

Malkar and one other man remained to monitor the ship's systems and oversee its course. The rest followed Avalon to the storage area where the crates had been deposited. They began prying loose the impressive array of fastenings which secured what had been meant to pass for inanimate machinery.

The door of the first crate came open to reveal Blake and Deva huddled together. More precisely Deva was clinging to Blake in a posture of high anxiety, and Blake was holding him protectively. The man who witnessed this tried not to react, but could not entirely keep a hint of derisive amusement from showing in his eyes.

Blake glared at him critically as he helped Deva from the box. "It's no picnic being in there without light or ventilation for over an hour," he thundered. "Not to mention the rather rough take-off. _You_ try it sometime." He turned his attention back to his companion.

"I'm sorry, Blake," Deva mumbled with obvious shame.

"Whatever for? You did fine," Blake assured him.

He cracked a weak smile. "You mean to say you weren't bothered by the odor I was giving off in there?"

"Was that you?" Blake responded. "I thought that was me."

It was a lie, of course, but such an exquisitely gracious one. Deva shook his head in amazement. You're one in a million, Blake, he breathed silently, you really are.

Reassured that Deva was all right, Blake moved on to the next crate, from which Dayna and Soolin had just emerged. "You two okay?" he asked. The women nodded.

Avalon herself was at the third crate. She and Blake traded chaste kisses as he automatically helped her get the door open. Tarrant stepped out holding Orac, then reached back in to remove several bags of hastily assembled supplies, including the remains from _Scorpio_. "Avalon," he greeted his rescuer, "you're a welcome sight for weary eyes."

"Welcome to the _Zebulon_ , Del Tarrant," she replied.

"He looks fit as a fiddle," Soolin commented wryly.

"He should," Dayna retorted. "He had all that air to himself."

"But only Orac for company, ladies," Tarrant reminded them. "I don't recall either of you volunteering to do this alone."

"Don't knock Orac, Tarrant," Deva spoke up, still pale himself. "If it weren't for Orac breaking into the computer at the Federation base and inserting a certain message about a consignment of mining equipment for Altern 5, we'd all still be on Gauda Prime."

By this time Blake's attention was riveted on the fourth and final crate. But he wasn't prepared for the manner in which the crate's occupants made their exodus. Vila came scuttling out on all fours, moving sideways like a crab--followed by Avon, rolling his eyes skyward and wringing his hands in the air in a gesture of supreme exasperation.

Still on the floor, Vila pointed at Avon and sputtered, "He tried to strangle me!"

"What?" Blake responded, laughing.

Avon shook his head. "It was while we were still on the loading dock," he recounted, "with Servalan and Arlen just feet away from us. I was forced to place my hand over his mouth to keep him from screaming in panic."

"You were trying to keep me from _breathing_!" Vila corrected accusingly. "You decided there was only enough air in there for one."

"That's ridiculous," Avon muttered. "If I had decided that, you wouldn't be alive to be babbling about it."

"Oh, yeah? Well, I almost wasn't," the thief maintained. "I was gasping for breath."

"You were hyperventilating," Avon retorted with disgust.

Blake looked from one to the other, then bent down beside the man on the floor. "Come on, Vila," he soothed. "I put you in with Avon because I know how safe you've always felt with him." At that, the thief jerked away suddenly, looked at Avon with pure terror and fled on his hands and knees to the opposite wall of the storage area.

"That wasn't the most astute choice of words, Blake," Avon remarked.

"Apparently not," Blake agreed. " _Why_ not?" he added pointedly.

"It's a long story," Avon said wearily. "Remind me never to tell you about it someday." He moved to examine Orac and the rest of the technical equipment they'd brought on board with them, grunting "Hello, Avalon" as he passed the woman without so much as an upward glance.

"Hello, Avon," she echoed with an unsurprised shrug, mimicking the autistic character of his greeting.

Blake moved up beside Avon, and Tarrant and Dayna moved closer to the two of them, attempting to make their move discreetly. "You know, Avon," Blake said quietly, "when two people are in a situation like that, the stronger one really ought to offer comfort, not terror."

Avon sighed. "He was going to scream, Blake. Would you rather I had let him give us all away on the spot?"

"No. Of course not. I just can't help thinking it needn't have come to that."

"Really? I'll tell you what. Next time _you_ ride with him. We'll see if your much-vaunted compassion is sufficient to avert the problem."

Tarrant and Dayna looked at one another.  "Does that count?" the pilot asked.

"No," Dayna answered, shaking her head.

"No," Tarrant agreed, shaking his head.

Blake looked at them with bewilderment, and they shrank away like guilty children caught at the cookie jar. Blake looked at Avon with a question in his eyes. Avon shrugged as if to say, I've no idea and I couldn't care less. "And how are _you_ doing?" Blake asked him bluntly.

"Fine," he declared, returning to the task of examining Orac. Blake felt sure that was an exaggeration. Although Avon's bruises had almost entirely disappeared, the rebel leader knew he still suffered from considerable muscle and joint pain. Enforced immobility in the cramped quarters of the shipping crates hadn't been comfortable for any of them, but for Avon it had to have been especially _un_ comfortable. And the buffeting about they'd all taken when the _Zebulon_ lifted off the planet had to have hit him the hardest--literally--never mind that he'd been grappling with Vila the whole time, trying to keep the frightened man from pounding on the door of the crate in his claustrophobic terror... But, of course, Avon would never admit to any of that. "Orac's fine, too," he pronounced now, completing his examination.

"Well, of course it is," Tarrant declared. "I shielded the bloody thing with my body in there."

"As well you should have," Avon returned.

"You're welcome," the pilot muttered sarcastically.

On the other side of the room, Avalon had finally succeeded in inducing Vila to rejoin the population of erect hominids. "What do you say we get out of this dreary space and I show you the living quarters?" she proposed.

"No introductions first?" Blake protested mildly.

"Perhaps best not," the woman advised. "We all know who you are, of course, but my people are using the names of the crew they replaced when we hijacked this ship. Some of us lead double lives on Iridian and need to protect our true identities."

"You mean Capt. Malkar _isn't_ Capt. Malkar," Vila reasoned aloud.

"Brilliant, Vila," Dayna whispered.

"I quite understand," Blake responded to Avalon. "The two 'Federation guards' who escorted the shipment for Altern 5 to the base are in much the same position. They were two of my people on Gauda Prime who are not known by the authorities to be rebels. We simply lent them a couple of uniforms we lifted from the base on a prior occasion."

"Yes, I'd wondered who they were," Avalon remarked with a smile.

"So where is the original crew?" Avon inquired.

"Well, three of the six were killed during the take-over. Unfortunate, but unavoidable. The other three are our guests on Iridian."

"You mean hostages," Avon corrected. "I believe in calling a spade a spade."

"Prisoners, Avon," Avalon maintained. "Not hostages. Hostages are people one holds for ransom."

"She believes in calling a spade a spade," Blake said to Avon, and to Avalon he said, "What are you planning to do with them?"

"Depends on them in large part," the woman answered, as the entire group moved out of the storage area and towards the main deck. "We're trying to educate them about the true nature of the Federation. Two of the three are single, they have no ties on Ryanec 5. Theoretically they could go anywhere for resettlement."

"Or redeployment?" Blake put in.

"One always hopes," smiled Avalon, as they reached the living quarters. "The third man is more problematical. He has a wife and four children on Ryanec 5. When this plan of ours is finally consummated--"

"Yes, I see," Blake interjected.

The conversation was left dangling as Avalon changed the subject, addressing the group in its entirety once more. "I'm afraid the sleeping arrangements are going to be a little cramped. The ship is carrying twice the crew it was designed for at the moment."

"Don't worry," Blake said, grinning. "After where we've just been, anything will seem spacious."

"Amen," Deva added, then, squirming a bit, asked, "Is there someplace I can clean up?" One of Avalon's men pointed him towards the bathing area.

"Basically we'll have to sleep in shifts to share the available beds," Avalon was explaining now.

Vila shrugged. "That's standard operating procedure for us even when there are enough beds," he said. "And Avon doesn't even require a turn. He never sleeps."

The computer expert gave the thief a scornful look.

"Dayna and Soolin are welcome to share my quarters," Avalon continued. "Unless, of course, one or both of you ladies are _with_ one or more of the gentlemen here."

"No," Dayna answered brightly, ignoring the humorous look of supplication which Tarrant cast her way.

"No," Soolin murmured less brightly. "No such luck." She gave no indication by glance or gesture as to whom she might have had in mind. Avalon's gaze travelled instinctively to Blake, but his face was as devoid of clues as if he were set to bluff a hostile interrogator.

"Blake, I believe you requested we bring a surgeon along," Avalon said now.

That got his attention. "Yes," he responded expectantly.

Avalon scanned the group, but could find no answer to _this_ puzzle either. "So who's the patient?" she asked bluntly.

Avon stepped forward. "I am," he replied. "So who's the doctor?"

"I am," answered a new voice. They all turned to see a bearded man of late middle age emerge from what was evidently the _Zebulon_ 's medical treatment area.

At the sight of the new arrival, Blake's mouth fell open. "Docholli?" he exclaimed.

The surgeon smiled warmly. "Roj Blake," he responded and extended his hand.

Blake shook it, then pulled the man close and embraced him. "Docholli," he repeated with continued amazement. "It _is_ you." He kept looking the doctor up and down for confirmation. "How did you--? When did you--? How long have you--?"

"How long have I been with the rebels?"

"Yes," Blake stammered. "I had no idea--"

"I'm sure you didn't. Since almost immediately after the destruction of Star One. But I've only been with Avalon's people for the past six months or so."

"This is fantastic," Blake continued to rave. "I can't tell you how delighted I am to see you."

"Oh, yes," Avon murmured. "Nothing turns Blake on like a convert to the cause."

"You're Kerr Avon, aren't you?" Docholli guessed.

The other smiled. "My infamy precedes me."

"And you have a medical problem that requires my services?"

"You could say that." Avon unbuttoned his shirt and slipped his left arm out of the sleeve.

Docholli reached for the dressing with a perfunctory, "May I?" As he undid the bandages and exposed the wound, Avalon gasped.

"How on earth--?"

"Oh, only the initial idea came from Earth," Avon told her, adding cryptically, "I always knew I'd owe Shrinker something someday."

Docholli looked almost as bewildered as Avalon--and looked as if he were waiting for a fuller explanation. "Avon had a run-in with an overzealous interrogator," Blake volunteered obligingly, then added with a mischievous twinkle, " _Two_ overzealous interrogators, actually."

"That's enough, Blake!" Avon admonished, but his tone was more teasing than angry.

"This is going to take forever," Tarrant whispered to Dayna.

"I know," she whispered back. But the smile in their eyes belied the complaint in their words, broadcasting pleasure and relief at the fact that Blake and Avon were finally able to indulge in such easy banter about the night that had nearly torn them apart forever.

Docholli used a small, shiny instrument to explore the wound more closely. "I'm sorry, I know it hurts," he apologized, as he systematically lifted the various layers of injured tissue. But Avon bore the examination in rigid, unmoving silence. It was Blake who flinched at each meeting of metal and flesh.

"Well," the doctor declared upon concluding, "if I had to guess, I'd say the initial injury was inflicted by some sort of laser tool--not a medical laser," he added emphatically. "And then, some time later, someone re-opened the wound--also not for medical purposes. It actually looks as if they reamed it out with some very crude instrument, which was probably dirty as well, since there's evidence of a healing infection which extended right into the bone." He looked at Avon.  "How am I doing so far?"

"Perfect score, Doctor. You're hired."

"What I'd really like to know," the surgeon continued, "is who's been tending this for you?"

"Ah, that would be Soolin," Blake answered, gesturing in her direction.

The woman stepped forward a trifle hesitantly, as if expecting to be berated for her amateurish efforts. She handed Docholli a sample of the antibiotic tablets from the base. "I've been giving him these," she said, "They're specific for bacteria indigenous to Gauda Prime; the infection was caused by the introduction into the wound of soil and vegetable matter from the Gauda Prime forest."

Docholli examined the pills. "Good choice," he declared. "We'll keep him on them for a little while longer." Then he smiled. "Where did you get your medical training, young lady?"

"Same place Blake got his training in concentration," Soolin quipped.

The rebel leader laughed. "She means in the arena of real life experience," he translated.

Docholli kept looking at her. "Well, you've done a first-rate job. This man owes you his arm, if not his life."

"I'll remember that," she vowed, with a smirk in Avon's direction.

Avon smirked back. "I'd be disappointed in you if you didn't," he retorted.

"Cleaned it out, too, did you?" Docholli inquired.

"Well--yes," Soolin stammered.

"You have a strong stomach."

" _He_ has a strong stomach," she corrected, thumbing at the patient.

Docholli frowned. No anesthesia, Blake mouthed silently.

Docholli looked a curious mixture of appalled and impressed. "Well, we won't put you through that here," he assured Avon. "Let's go get it properly taken care of once and for all, shall we?"

"Now?" Blake said skeptically.

"Why put it off?"

"Why indeed?" Avon agreed. "Lead the way, Doctor."

"Just across the hall," Docholli pointed, and to Soolin, "Would you come along to assist?"

The woman broke into a proud smile. "My, my," she murmured. "Looks like I missed my calling in life." She batted her eyelashes at Blake with conspicuous humor as she slipped past him to follow the surgeon.

"Don't even _think_ of patching people up instead of shooting them," he called after her, and the room rocked with laughter. Realizing how that had sounded, Blake laughed too.

"Come on, Del Tarrant," Avalon beckoned, taking the pilot's arm. "Captain Malkar is waiting for you on the flight deck. I believe it's time we introduced you to your new ship."

*****

"No," Avon said firmly.  "It will never work."

Blake smiled. "For a man who's halfway along to equipping this freighter with photonic drive and who's made a decent start on constructing a teleport bay, not to mention putting in modifications that will allow us to install a weapons system worthy of a battle fleet craft, you're turning distressingly conservative on me."

Avon continued the adjustments he was making to the main drives and said without looking up, "Everything you've just cited falls under the heading of technology. Technology is predictable."

"But you're making a prediction here, too."

"Technology is predictable _and_ reliable," Avon amended. "Human beings are predictable and _un_ reliable. Hand me that probe, will you?"

Blake complied. "I still can't get over how rapidly you've recovered from your surgery. It's been less than three days--hell, you were up and working in less than three hours."

"It was merely a matter of waiting for the anesthetic to wear off. Technology, Blake." Avon rose from the engine room floor and displayed his left arm where the patch of synthoskin was indistinguishable from his own flesh. "Good as new," he declared. "You can't even tell there was an injury."

"And no more pain?"

"None worth mentioning. I'm off the pain medication and, as of this morning, I'm off the antibiotics."

"No wonder you're so full of energy."

"I will admit the drugs slowed me down."

Blake grinned. Coming from Avon that was almost a major confession. "Okay, now about my plan," he started once more.

"It's crazy," Avon declared. "It's impossible." He headed for the engine room door.

"Docholli, Avon, we have Docholli," Blake persisted, trotting after him. "Don't you think after all this time doing routine battle patching and treating stray space viruses, he'd welcome a real challenge?"

Avon stopped in his tracks, his mouth falling open. "You don't mean--? You _can't_ mean--?

"Why not?"

"Well, for one thing, Docholli isn't ours. He's Avalon's."

Blake made a gesture of dismissal. "So we borrow him for awhile."

"I see. You and Avalon do a deal over him. Does Docholli get a vote, by the way?"

"Well, of course Docholli has to agree to it," Blake replied in a that-goes-without-saying tone of voice.

"And you'll find a way to persuade him, won't you?" Avon retorted.

Before Blake could answer, a voice came through the communications panel on the wall. "Avalon to Blake."

The rebel leader pushed the transmit button. "Blake here."

"I think you might want to join me on the flight deck," the woman said. "Orac's just intercepted a very interesting communication between the Federation base on Gauda Prime and the Federation laboratory on Ryanec 5."

"On my way," Blake responded. "You coming?" he asked Avon.

"No, I don't think so," the other man begged off. "I mean, we _know_ what that's about, don't we?"

"I hope so," Blake answered.

Avon smiled. "Well, if it isn't, I'm sure you will let me know."

"As you like," Blake said with a shrug.

Avalon was waiting for him on the flight deck. The only other person present was Captain Malkar--the man Blake's people knew as "Captain Malkar", that is--but he was busy piloting the ship and paid them no attention.

"It was Arlen talking to a man named Hagrim," Avalon related. "She was boiling mad. She said her people had just discovered that the entire shipment of Pylene-50 delivered three days ago had been rendered inert by the introduction of mythracite crystals."

"No?" Blake gasped, feigning horror. "You don't say?"

Avalon struggled to suppress her own laughter. "Arlen kept shrieking about sabotage, demanding Hagrim subject every worker in the plant to deep interrogation. Hagrim refused, saying such an accusation was a blot on the honor of some of the Federation's most dedicated scientists and technicians--and besides, if they were all subjected to deep interrogation, who would be left in a fit state to keep the plant running?" Now Avalon _was_ laughing. "I'm sorry," she said, regaining a measure of self-control. "I realize that's not a humorous prospect. Arlen calmed down enough to appreciate his argument--just that last part of it, I think, and then Hagrim pointed out that the mythracite crystals are a by-product of the manufacturing process and that the contamination must have been an accident. Then Arlen told him his staff was incompetent, if not treasonous, and that she wasn't sure which was worse."

"Did they make any arrangement for a third shipment?" Blake asked.

"No," Avalon said slyly. "Hagrim suggested waiting until the _Zebulon_ returned so he could question the captain and crew as to any possibility that the accident had occurred in transit, and Arlen agreed."

"Well, now," Blake drawled, "they've got a long wait, haven't they?"

"Just about forever," estimated Avalon. Although the initial plan had called for relanding the _Zebulon_ on Ryanec 5 under presumptive Federation auspices, that idea had soon been abandoned in favor of a far more daring one: The ship was going to meet with an unfortunate mishap in space. Using the planet Iridian as cover, they would send out a distress signal, followed by a convincing simulation of an on-board explosion. _Zebulon_ and its crew would simply cease to exist, and since the survivors from the original crew were safely tucked away on Iridian, there'd be no one showing up to contradict the concocted story. That was why the crew member with a family on Ryanec 5 presented a problem: Letting his wife and children believe he'd been killed was a prospect neither Avalon nor Blake particularly relished. They were determined to try to find some way to get around that ethically troublesome consequence of their actions, but, at the same time, they were determined to carry through with their plan. "It's for the good of his children, too," the rebel leader had proclaimed solemnly. "Whether he knows it or not, and whether they know it or not."

Now Blake ushered Avalon to a corner of the flight deck, out of Malkar's range of hearing. She looked at him quizzically. "How would you feel about lending me Docholli for awhile?" he asked.

"Why?" she countered. "You have Soolin."

"Soolin can't do what I need Docholli for."

"Which is?"

"I'd rather not say."

Avalon shrugged. "Then I'd rather not lend you Docholli."

It was not an unreasonable position, Blake realized. The cybersurgeon was a valuable asset, not to be parted with lightly. "Fair enough," he conceded. "But if I tell you, you must promise not to repeat it."

"All right."

"Under _any_ circumstances."

"I hear you, Blake."

He took a deep breath. "I want Docholli to perform surgery to alter the appearance and fingerprints of one of my people so that he or she can infiltrate the Pylene-50 manufacturing center on Ryanec 5." Avalon whistled in astonishment--and she was not easily astonished, and especially not by Blake. "Well?" he prodded.

"Well, it's up to Docholli. If he's willing, you have my blessing."

Blake breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

Avalon looked into his eyes. "Is it going to be you, Blake? Is it going to be Avon?"

He made a gesture of equivocation. "I don't know yet. And if I did, I wouldn't tell you."

"Despite my promise?"

"Right."

"Right," she echoed.

"These are hairy times, girl," Blake said softly.

"I'm not offended, Roj," she assured him.

He pinched her cheek affectionately. "Good."

The sound of the door to the flight deck sliding open drew their attention. Tarrant marched in and marched over to Malkar. "Everything nominal?" he inquired.

"Absolutely," Malkar replied. "Maintaining our present course and speed, we'll be in range of Iridian in 24.7 hours. Think you'll be ready to handle the ship without backup by then?"

"Well now," Tarrant responded. "How's about you turn the flight deck over to me and I'll show you."

"Anxious to get rid of us, Del?" Avalon teased, strolling over with Blake.

"I thought _you_ might be anxious to get home," he countered.

"Tarrant's just itching to function as a pilot again," Blake declared. "And I can't blame him. We've all been laboring under the strain of enforced idleness far too long." He chuckled. "Look at Avon. Look at how _he's_ thriving now that he can tinker creatively with the ship's systems."

"Yes," Tarrant agreed. "It's even turned him sociable."

Blake frowned. "Sociable? What do you mean?"

"Well, I just saw him on the Recreation Deck. He was having what looked to be an intimate chat with Docholli."

At Tarrant's words, a shadow crossed Blake's face, sweeping all the light and joy out of it. "Oh, no!" he exclaimed and went rushing from the flight deck without explanation.

Tarrant turned to Malkar. "Do me a favor. Stay here a little longer."

"I thought you were so eager to relieve me," the other said, bewildered.

"Later," Tarrant promised. "Excuse me," he murmured to Avalon.

Leaving the flight deck, he glanced around furtively to make sure he was alone, then pulled out his hand communicator. "Tarrant to Dayna," he said quietly into it. "Meet me as soon as you can on the Recreation Deck. I think this may be it."

*****

From the table in Recreation Room One where he was seated with Docholli, Avon rose to face Blake eye-to-eye. The rebel leader was glaring at him in stony silence, trying to control his temper before he spoke. Docholli flinched at the sight of them without quite knowing why and then looked away uncomfortably as if he were intruding on some exquisitely private moment.

Finally Blake spoke. "Did you tell him?"

"Yes." Avon's tone was forthright, matter-of-fact and completely devoid of remorse.

Blake closed his eyes as if the reply had been a physical blow, immediately opened them again and said, "All right. Leave us now."

"Just like that?" Avon challenged.

"Just like that," Blake repeated forcefully. "I will talk to you later."

Avon shook his head. "Not in that tone you won't." And to Docholli, "Remember what I said." Then he departed.

Blake took another moment or two to collect himself and, by the time he sat down, had purged the anger from his voice. "I'm sorry. I wanted to be the one to explain it to you."

"Does it matter?" Docholli asked softly.

"Well, that all depends," Blake replied. "Has he talked you out of coming with us?"

"He's given me something to think about," the surgeon answered ambiguously and saw the other stiffen with renewed venom. "He says it will be very dangerous."

"Well, I can't tell you he's wrong about that," Blake admitted. "I can tell you I'll protect you to the best of my ability."

"I'm not a hero, Blake," the doctor said gently. "I'm not you. I'm not Kerr Avon. I certainly could never keep my mouth shut under torture the way he evidently did."

"No one's going to ask you to," Blake assured him. "All I want--all I need--is the use of your technical skills for a short time."

"Use or misuse?"

"I don't see it as misuse if the subject is willing."

"Are you going to _be_ the subject?"

"Possibly. That hasn't been decided yet. Understand, I never ask anyone to do anything I wouldn't be prepared to do myself."

Docholli smiled. "That's noble, I'll admit."

"I'm not trying to impress you with my nobility, Doctor."

"That's noble, too."

Blake sighed. "Docholli, listen. A number of years ago when you faked that operation on Lurgen, when you defied the Federation's order to erase the location of Star One from his memory--you did that because you experienced a  crisis of conscience, right?"

"You could say that, yes."

"And presumably that's why you're with Avalon now--which, I hasten to point out, is not the safest place in the galaxy to be either."

"But at least Iridian is not a Federation stronghold," the surgeon argued.

Blake reached out and grasped his wrists. "Docholli, you know about Pylene-50, don't you?"

"I've--heard."

"It's a vile thing, Doctor. In its own way, it's as vile and evil a thing as the Federation has ever concocted to rob human beings of their humanity. You have a chance to help us take that weapon away from them, to save millions of people from being turned into moral zombies. How can you walk away from that and live with yourself?"

Docholli's throat tightened and his facial muscles quivered. He looked helplessly at his hands, still pinned under Blake's, and heaved a sigh. "Avon was right."

"What?" retorted the rebel leader in alarm.

"He said you'd be very persuasive and he was right." The doctor pushed back his chair and stood up. "Okay, Blake," he declared. "If I die on Ryanec 5, so be it."

Now it was Blake's turn to sigh--his relief a counterpart to the other's resignation. He stood up too, laid his hands firmly on Docholli's arms just below the shoulders and looked deep into the man's eyes. "Thank you," he breathed passionately. "And, Docholli--I meant what I said about protecting you."

The surgeon nodded. "I know you did, Son." Blake released him slowly and turned to leave the room. Docholli hesitated a moment, then called after him. "Blake--"

The rebel leader stopped and turned back. "Yes?"

"Go easy on your friend. He meant well."

"Did he?"

"He doesn't believe your plan can work. And he _does_ believe you're going to be the one to take it on. It's not me he was trying to protect--it was you."

Blake chuckled, suspecting that Docholli spoke the truth, but not much comforted by it. "You don't protect a man by saving his life at the cost of his soul," he declared. "I'll talk to you again very soon. Excuse me." Walking out, he passed Avalon walking in.

Perplexed that he didn't even acknowledge her, she hurried to the cybersurgeon's side. "What's with him?" she asked. "Did he tell you what he's planning? Did you turn him down?"

Docholli snorted. "Hardly. The damn thing is, I fully intended to turn him down. But he cut through all my excuses and rationalizations... How does he _do_ that?"

Avalon smiled. "I don't know. I'm just grateful that he does." She put her arms around the doctor and hugged him. "I'm going to miss you."

He squeezed her in return with fatherly affection. "Don't worry," he said. "I'll be back." Then he laughed and added, "If I survive."

*****

On his way to find Avon, Blake had the uncanny sense that he was being followed. Once or twice he actually thought he caught a glimpse of a shadow dogging his footsteps, but when he stopped and turned around, it was gone. He shrugged it off as the by-product of a troubled imagination. After all, there were no unfriendly travellers aboard this ship...

Tarrant saw Blake approaching the living quarters and ducked out of sight. When Avon and Blake had separated on the Recreation Deck, he and Dayna had also. Now Blake walked through the door leading to the sleep cubicles. A moment later his mysterious "shadow" dropped down beside the _Zebulon_ 's new pilot. Dayna Mellanby had not spent her formative years tracking and hunting in the primitive environment of Sarran for nothing. If there was one talent she'd mastered, it was the art of pursuing her prey without being detected...

Blake was relieved to discover that there was no one actually sleeping in the sleep cubicles. There was only Avon working on a set of mathematical calculations connected with the photonic drive he was in process of installing. Infuriatingly, the computer expert didn't even bother looking up when he entered.

Blake grabbed the materials out of his hands and flung them aside. "How dare you try to undercut me with Docholli that way!" he bellowed.

Avon met his smoldering expression with a cool and mellow one. "Why? Did I succeed?"

"No, but that's not the point."

Avon shrugged. "If I didn't succeed, I fail to see what you're complaining about."

"The point is, I told you what I was planning."

"And I disagreed with it," the other returned calmly. "And I acted on my convictions, not yours."

"Avon, I confided in you," Blake exclaimed. "You had no right to go to Docholli behind my back like that."

"You forget I'm not one of your followers," Avon responded.

"That's right--you're not," Blake shot back. "You're my partner." He was so lost in his own hurt rage that he failed to see the look that last comment elicited. "We're a team, damn it," he persisted. "And you violated that. You owe me an apology."

Avon's eyes had taken on that familiar, conflicted expression of a man split in two, torn between wanting to lure, and wanting to rebuff, this passionate whirlwind that had dominated his life since the day fate had thrust them together. "No, I don't, Blake," he said. "This is a free spaceship. I was exercising my freedom of speech."

"Hear me, Avon," Blake warned. "I will not have you interfering that way again."

With an ironic smile, Avon murmured, "First he says I'm his partner, which implies equality. Then he issues a threat." He looked up. "That was a threat, wasn't it?"

"I've nothing more to say to you until you apologize!" Blake thundered at the top of his lungs and stormed out of the room.

Avon followed as far as the door, shouting after him, "It will be a cold day at the center of the volcano on Obsidian before you get that apology!"

The moment Avon's head was back inside the room, Tarrant's and Dayna's lifted slowly from the floor of the corridor where the two stealthy eavesdroppers had been pressed flat to conceal themselves. They looked at one another and exclaimed simultaneously, " _That_ counts."

*****

The living quarters on the _Zebulon_ consisted of three sections:  the captain's quarters, which Avalon was sharing with Dayna and Soolin; the rest of the sleep cubicles, which were half a dozen womb-like enclosures stacked, bunk-style, in three rows of two each; and a larger lounging room equipped with comfortable couches and drinks dispensers, leading in one direction to the bathroom facilities and in the other direction to the main corridor.

Around the same time that Blake was recruiting Docholli in Recreation Room One, Deva was in the lounging area waiting for Soolin to return from Recreation Room Two. He looked up at the sound of the door to see her enter, sad-faced and resigned. "No luck, huh?" he asked unnecessarily.

"None," she confirmed. "He won't stop drinking. He won't stop gambling. Of course he's too drunk to _win_ at gambling, so he's rapidly losing every last credit to his name."

Deva sighed. "Thanks anyway for trying."

Soolin joined him on the couch. "You know I'm a little surprised at the degree of your concern. I thought you and Vila didn't even really like each other."

"We didn't," Deva acknowledged, adding by way of clarification, " _I_ didn't. And he seemed to resent my resentment of Avon. But since I discovered we have something in common--"

"You and Vila?" the woman interjected with amazement. "What?"

"Claustrophobia," Deva said quietly.

"Oh."  Soolin chuckled as she remembered the circumstances of their unconventional coming aboard.

"I felt so sorry for him being stuck in there with Avon," Deva continued. "I mean, I had Blake, who was just an absolute prince about the whole thing. I mean, when isn't Blake, but still--I mean he almost had me feeling like my cowardice was courage."

"But it _was_ ," Soolin exclaimed. "I mean, it wasn't _cowardice_. I mean, you suffer from claustrophobia, and yet you walked into that shipping crate and allowed yourself to be locked inside in total darkness, with a limited amount of air, trusting that a bunch of people you'd never met would fish you out of there in time. I'd say that qualifies as courage."

"But I never warned Blake in advance _about_ my claustrophobia. I should have done, but I thought I could tough it out and he would never have to know. Boy, was I wrong!" Deva cringed at his memory as he continued. "It didn't take him long to figure it out either. He couldn't see my face and, by the grace of God, I kept my mouth shut, but my breathing must have given me away. Blake reached out and took my hand--such warmth in that grip of his, such strength and such utterly selfless giving. I calmed down in spite of myself--for awhile, anyway. I can't imagine how I'd have felt if the person next to me had put his hand over my mouth--I mean, when you _already_ think you can't breathe, that's hardly the way to convince you otherwise."

"You say you calmed down 'for awhile'."

"Yes, eventually I came completely unravelled despite Blake's presence. It was when we took off--I'd never been off Gauda Prime before, you know. So I didn't know if all that jostling was normal or--"

"This is your first flight into space?" Soolin gasped. "Oh, my goodness, no wonder you were so frightened."

"I really lost it during the take-off," Deva mumbled with embarrassment. "I mean really _lost_ it, both ways running." Soolin registered his meaning and swallowed a giggle. "I can't believe I'm telling you this," he added.

"Don't be silly," the woman said. "We're comrades-in-arms."

He smiled. "You're easy to talk to. Anyway, it started to smell like a latrine, and I pulled away from Blake, but how far away could I get in there, right?"

"What did Blake do?"

"Pulled me back into his arms as if nothing had happened. Held me close. Whispered, 'It's okay. It's going to be okay. It's going to be over soon.' Afterward I tried to apologize, and he made out like _he'd_ been the one who'd--you know."

"Yes," Soolin breathed with a sigh. "That's Blake all right. That's what I'd expect him to do. As gracious in the smallest detail as he is solid in the face of the most overwhelming, life-threatening challenge."

"Poor Vila," Deva murmured again. "You don't suppose it's remotely possible that Avon really tried to--?"

"No, of course not! I mean, he might well be capable of it, but he did the calculations himself as to how much air we'd have and how long it would last. He knew there was no danger, certainly not that early on as it apparently happened."

"He couldn't have panicked, ceased trusting his calculations?"

"When have you known Avon to panic?"

"True."

"The point is, _Vila_ thinks he really tried to--that's why he's carrying on the way he is. And I can't quite figure it. I mean, I can understand Vila thinking it in the moment since _he_ was panicking, but afterward he should have come to his senses about it. But he hasn't. There's definitely something going on here that the rest of us don't know about."

"Except Avon," Deva said. "Avon seemed to know exactly why Vila was so afraid of him. Remember what he said to Blake about a long story that Blake should remind him never to tell?"

"Yes," Soolin responded. "Yes, I _do_ remember now that you mention it." Then she shrugged. "Well, neither Avon nor Vila seems inclined to talk about it, so we'll probably never learn what it was."

"I have to admit," Deva continued, "that my feelings for Avon have changed somewhat, too--well, at least the way I think about him has changed. I almost hated him in the beginning, you know. Partly for reasons I'm not very proud of--"

"You were jealous of Blake's special affection for him," Soolin cut in. "Hey, I can understand that--believe me, I can."

"It wasn't all jealousy, though. Some of it was genuine concern for Blake, especially after the night you raided the base, the appalling way Avon treated him. I'll tell you, sometimes when he would freeze Blake out like that, I wanted to scream at him: 'Unbend for once, you bloody piece of human herculaneum'--but I'm sure grateful he didn't unbend the night Servalan had him."

"You can say that again," Soolin agreed. "Even if our survival is just the accidental by-product of Avon's loyalty to Blake." She shook her head in disbelief at her own words. "God, I've actually said it: Avon's loyalty to Blake. I didn't believe it before that night, you know, but it's damn hard to deny in the face of that kind of evidence. Avon could have offered Blake to Servalan to save himself, and he didn't."

"You really think the rest of us were just an afterthought?"

Soolin shrugged again. "Who knows? Who _ever_ knows with Avon?"

"Blake," Deva declared with uncharacteristic firmness. "And isn't it wonderful how they've stopped fighting?"

"Well, Blake did save the man's life, after all. You know what Avon told me one time when I was dressing his wound? That Blake originally intended to lift that carimbula off him with a stick."

"You're not serious?" Deva gasped. "Surely Blake's got to have known better?"

"That's the point. Blake didn't care. All he cared about was Avon. He must have figured his tracking device would lead us to them and that Avon would be saved." Before Soolin's eyes, her companion turned pale as a ghost. "What?" she demanded.

"We'd have had to shoot Blake, to kill him." Deva's voice was saturated with horror. "I couldn't have done."

"I couldn't have either," Soolin admitted. Their eyes met. " _Avon_ would have done it," she declared.

"Yes," echoed Deva, looking away.

All at once their moment of chilling realization was shattered by the sound of raised voices. "I've nothing more to say to you until you apologize!" the first voice thundered. "It will be a cold day at the center of the volcano on Obsidian before you get that apology!" the second voice bellowed back.

Deva and Soolin looked at one another, then leapt to their feet and went running out into the corridor. In a blur they saw Blake disappearing down the hall and Avon retreating back into the area of the sleep cubicles. And with a startled thud, they crashed into Dayna and Tarrant.

"What the bloody--?" Soolin started, then broke off. "I don't believe it! You two were eavesdropping on them!"

"It's that ridiculous pool of yours, isn't it?" Deva muttered with contempt.

"Yes, and it's all over now but the pay-off," Dayna proclaimed triumphantly.

"You're just sorry you didn't get in on it when you had the chance," the pilot taunted, grinning.

"Oh, grow up, Tarrant," Soolin shot back.

Dayna laid a hand on Tarrant's arm. "Why don't we go find Vila?" she suggested. They turned and started down the corridor.

"If Vila owes one of you money," Soolin called out after them, "you'll have a hard time collecting it. He's been drinking himself blind and losing at cards to Avalon's men non-stop since whatever the hell happened between him and Avon in that shipping crate." She turned back to Deva.

"What was that I said about how they've stopped fighting?" the man murmured sadly.

Soolin heaved a sigh. "Fairy tale's over," she declared. "Look's like we're back to square one."

 

III

 

"This is Capt. Malkar of the Space Freighter _Zebulon_ calling any space vehicle or rescue-capable base within range of my voice. We are 2000 spacials from the planet Iridian in the Argulian star system, coordinates 066.713. We have experienced a malfunction in the ship's main drives. Pressure is building rapidly. Explosion is imminent. Does anyone read me? Over."

On the flight deck, Blake and Avon stood behind the man putting out the mayday call. Avon stood just to the other side of Avalon, with Tarrant, Dayna, and Soolin several feet behind them.

Malkar spoke again. "This is _Zebulon_ calling any space craft or installation within range of my voice. We have an emergency. Respond please. Over."

" _Zebulon_ , this is space station XK 61 acknowledging your distress signal. Over."

"XK 61, this is Captain Malkar en route from Gauda Prime to Ryanec 5. We have critical pressure in the ship's main drives. I have a crew of six. We're minutes from total disintegration. Over."

" _Zebulon_ , this is XK 61. We understand your predicament. We have a fix on your position. It will take us at least an hour to get a rescue craft to your location. Recommend you launch life capsules programmed to orbit the planet Iridian at 2000 spacials. We'll do our best to pick you up. Over."

Malkar looked back over his shoulder at Avalon and Blake's people and gestured with crossed fingers for them to wish him luck. In a voice edged with feigned terror, he addressed his would-be rescuer one last time. "XK 61, this is _Zebulon_. No time to launch life capsules. Please advise our home base on Ryanec 5 of what has happened. We thank you for--"

"Now!" Avon commanded sharply.

Following a previously rehearsed routine, Malkar hit two buttons in quick succession. The first put out a simulated plasma trail, such as might be expected from a ship which had suddenly vaporized. The second engaged the newly-installed photonic drive and took the _Zebulon_ instantly off the monitoring screen of the space station tracking them. They briefly heard the voice of the man on XK 61 anxiously trying to re-establish contact with them, and then he was as lost to them as they were to him.

"Well," proclaimed Malkar, smiling at his audience, "I'd say that puts us a good 50 million spacials from where we were less than a minute ago. Now all we have to do is wait until tomorrow's scheduled rendezvous with our home ship. We'll return to Iridian just long enough to effect the transfer, and then the _Zebulon_ is yours for good --starting with the docking."

"Fine by me," responded Tarrant, to whom the last statement had been addressed. He looked around at his companions and shook his head. "I still can't believe Vila isn't here. I can't believe even _he_ would've chosen to miss _this_."

"What he chose to miss was me," Dayna whispered. "It's a common enough syndrome between debtors and creditors."

"So what's Deva's excuse for not being here?" the pilot countered.

"Intractable space sickness?" Dayna suggested, grinning.

"Deva's not here because he went to _look_ for Vila," Soolin cut in crossly.

"Since when are you his self-appointed defender?" the other woman retorted.

"Since some people around here seem to find it necessary, or amusing, or both, to put him down," Soolin snapped back.

Most of this exchange was ignored by Blake and Avon, who, with Avalon, were checking out the ship's new position. Malkar had taken them to an uncharted region of a remote star system where they could theoretically spend the next day comfortably undetected, but they wanted to make sure. Malkar himself had just put the _Zebulon_ on automatic and departed the flight deck for a rest. From what the ship's detectors registered--and from what the ship's vu-screens didn't--it indeed appeared likely that they could relax for the next 24 hours.

"So that's photonic drive," murmured Avalon.

"Evidently," responded Blake, who had also never before seen the _Scorpio_ 's old system in operation. "Tell Avon I'm properly impressed. It worked like a charm."

Since Avon was standing less than three meters away from them, Avalon responded to Blake's words with a peculiar look, but she nonetheless started to comply with the bizarre request. "Avon, Blake says--"

"I heard," Avon cut in. "Tell Blake I don't appreciate his comparison of a highly complex technological asset to some primitive amulet."

The other three individuals within hearing range exchanged looks of discomfort. "This is where I get off," Tarrant announced quietly.

"Me too," echoed Dayna.

"What's the matter?" Soolin taunted, following them through the flight deck doors. "No longer interested now that there's no profit to be had from it?"

"Blake," transmitted Avalon dutifully, "Avon says he doesn't appreciate your comparison of a--what?" she faltered, not remembering.

But, of course, Blake had heard it perfectly well the first time. "Tell Avon his capacity to take offense on behalf of a technological asset is indicative of a warped mind."

"Tell Blake his lack of linguistic precision is indicative of an inferior mind."

Suddenly exasperated, Avalon turned on Avon. "Tell him yourself," she snapped. And to Blake she snapped, "Ditto," adding, "I quit." She started to walk out on them, then changed her mind and turned back. "You know, I'll admit I wasn't with you two for very long that time when you rescued me from Servalan, but I don't _ever_ remember it being _this_ bad."

A twinkle appeared in Blake's eye. "Actually it was worse," he declared.

"We just used to hide it better," Avon elaborated.

"And, as you say, you weren't with us that long," Blake concluded.

God, Avalon thought to herself, even when they fight, it's like a perfectly choreographed ballet. They'd do anything for one another, these two--anything except admit it, that is. Aloud she said, "Can't you see how ridiculous you're being? A couple of grown men--leaders of the rebellion yet--behaving like spoiled children. What if Servalan could see you now? You'd be the laughing stock of the Federation." She looked back and forth from one to the other.

"Hey, don't look at me," Avon protested. "He's the one who insists on an apology before he'll speak to me."

Under Avalon's withering gaze, Blake relented. "All right, Avon," he sighed. "Scratch the apology. I will settle for your word that you won't do such a thing again."

"I can't give you that either, Blake," Avon replied with helpless honesty. "I don't believe I did anything wrong."

"Right," Avalon muttered with unconcealed disgust. "And while you two continue to squabble, do you even know what's been going on with Vila?"

"I know what's been going on with Vila," Blake replied. "I just don't know what to do about it."

"What's going on with Vila?" Avon asked, bewildered.

"How typical of you not to notice, Avon," Avalon observed.

"Well now, I've been a little busy these past few days," the man reminded her, "installing Blake's--charm, and putting in the necessary preliminaries for a teleport system. If there was something I needed to know, all you had to do was tell me."

Avalon proceeded to oblige. "Vila's been on a king-sized drinking binge. He's spending every available minute gambling with my crew--and losing, of course."

A look of genuine concern spread across Avon's face.

"You could try reining in your crew," Blake suggested to Avalon.

"I've done that as of this morning," she said. "I've forbidden any of them to continue gambling with him, but that doesn't address the fundamental problem. Honestly, Blake, how could you let it get this far?"

"What should I have done? Locked him in the storage area?" The rebel leader cast a glance at Avon. "If memory serves, that's how this whole thing got started. Forbidden him to drink perhaps? I'm not his moral mentor, girl."

"Why not?" Avon put in coyly. "You seem to think you are everyone else's."

"That's enough!" Blake bellowed, pointing at him.

At that moment the flight deck doors opened, and Vila stumbled in, followed by Deva. "Looks like we missed the big event," Blake's former assistant commented.

"Who the hell cares?" Vila shot back. "I've got _real_ problems. No one wants to play cards with me anymore. And Dayna's after me for the money I owe her--as if I'm not good for it--as if I won't steal it eventually--and Tarrant seems to think he's her private enforcer, so _he's_ after me--"

Blake grabbed Deva by the arm as Vila continued to stagger across the flight deck. "Do you mean to tell me Tarrant and Dayna have been _encouraging_ this by gambling with him, too?" he demanded angrily.

"Not exactly," Deva answered.

"What then?"

The other man looked more than a bit uncomfortable. "Believe me," he muttered, "you don't want to know."

Suddenly Vila lost his balance, tripped over his own feet and landed face down on the floor, his arms and legs pumping aimlessly in a totally discoordinated fashion. Deva cringed at the indignity of it, and Avalon just stood there, shaking her head in disbelief. Blake started forward with the intention of helping the thief but, before he had taken two steps, felt a restraining hand on his chest. "Let me," Avon said quietly.

A momentary expression of surprise in Blake's eyes gave way to one of understanding. He nodded assent and backed off. "Was that wise?" Deva questioned, moving close to him.

"We'll find out soon enough, won't we?" Blake replied. "Look, whatever this is is between them, Deva. Frankly, I'm pleased that Avon seems to be taking some responsibility for it."

"Maybe we should give them some privacy," Avalon suggested in a whisper.

"Good thought," Blake agreed in the same hushed tone. The three of them effected a discreet withdrawal from the flight deck.

Avon meanwhile stood over the sprawled figure of the intoxicated thief and gently spoke his name.

"Go away, Avon," Vila moaned, his voice muffled by the fact that his mouth was pressed against the floor.

"Vila, I didn't try to kill you this time. I give you my word." Avon watched calmly as the other man gradually rolled over onto his back and then awkwardly raised himself into a sitting position. "Vila, if I'd let you scream and Servalan had found us, it would have been your head as much as anyone else's."

The logic of Avon's words seemed to be getting through. Vila nodded. "I like how you said 'this time', though," he sniffed. "What about last time?"

Finally! After all these weeks, it was out in the open between them. "What do you expect me to say?" Avon murmured quietly. "You know me. You can't have been surprised."

"I was," the thief insisted fiercely.

"All right then, you _shouldn't_ have been surprised."

"You can't blame it all on instinct, Avon," Vila said bitterly. "You wouldn't have done it to Blake."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do.  And you do, too." He spoke with as much conviction as his companion had ever heard issue from him. "There's no way in hell you'd have tried to push Blake out the airlock of that shuttle."

A poignant, far-away look came over Avon's face as he contemplated the proposed scenario. "There's no way in hell I'd have had to," he returned.

"Interesting point, Avon. But you wouldn't have _let_ him either."

The computer expert smiled, remembering how he and Blake had clashed over the carimbula, each of them prepared to _be_ the victim rather than see the other succumb to the serpent's poison. Smiled, too, at his lack of surprise at the thief's insight. "I honestly thought you were over Malodaar, Vila," he said.

"I thought I was, too," the man on the floor reflected. "But the other day brought it all back..."

"Yes, I understand."

"You do?"

"Yes," Avon repeated lightly. Then, "Vila, I realize this isn't quite what you're looking to hear, but I am glad that it turned out the way it did. I would have--regretted--the necessity for the other solution. It would have--bothered me--a great deal." The words came out haltingly, awkwardly.

Vila's eyes grew wide with amazement. "Really?"

"Yes, really. Hell, don't you know that?"

Vila reached out a hand and let Avon help him to his feet. "I wasn't sure," he answered. "It's nice to hear, though--even if it wouldn't have bothered you enough to stop you."

Avon withdrew his hand so abruptly that the thief nearly fell back down again. "Quit while you're ahead, Vila, okay?" he advised, his voice laced with aggravation.

Vila seemed to be pondering the admonition. Suddenly a sly gleam appeared in his eye. He muttered to himself, "I _could_ be ahead if--" He broke off and cleared his throat. "Say, Avon," he addressed his companion brightly, "how would you feel about lending me a hundred credits?"

*****

With impeccable skill apparently undiminished by the passage of time spent unable to practice it, Del Tarrant maneuvered the _Zebulon_ into docking position with the spacecraft from Iridian. Twenty four hours earlier the remnants of the photonic drive system which Dr. Plaxton had installed on board the _Scorpio_ had enabled them to fake the ship's destruction. Now it had brought them just as quickly back to the planet which was Avalon's home base. They were positioned behind Iridian's largest uninhabited moon for maximum cover and planned to remain in the vicinity no longer than was necessary to effect the transfer.

Captain Malkar and the rest of Avalon's people filed slowly onto the flight deck, carrying what few personal belongings each of them had brought on board at the time of the hijacking. Blake opened a ship-wide communications channel and addressed his own people. "Attention, all crew. Our former hosts are about to depart. Anyone wishing to say goodbye--now's the time."

Dayna, Deva, and Soolin arrived on the flight deck almost immediately and went from one to the other of Avalon's people, shaking hands. Avon was already there but, disinclined to indulge in what he considered frivolous social ritual, simply watched.

The flight deck doors opened a second time, and Vila appeared. Blake saw Avon breathe a discreet sigh of relief when _he_ saw that the thief was sober.

Vila seemed reluctant to bid farewell to the men who had won his last credit from him and then abruptly refused him the opportunity to win any of it back. His memory for the details of it all was hazy enough that he still did not appreciate _why_ they had suddenly withdrawn from him. So he waved a hand awkwardly to each of them from a distance--but, as soon as Dayna was finished making her goodbyes, he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her aside.

Avon and Blake watched as he counted out one hundred credits and laid them in her eager, open palm. "Told you I was good for it, didn't I?" he muttered smugly.

"It's about time, Vila," she retorted. "Tarrant paid up promptly like a gentleman, you know."

"Yeah, well, the whole thing was Tarrant's idea," the thief grumbled. "Told you it was immoral and disgusting, didn't I? Question is, why didn't _I_ listen to my own good sense? Serves me right for getting sucked into such a scheme. Next time you can count me out."

Dayna looked skeptical. "You're just sulking because your own guess was so wide of the mark," she declared. "Imagine imagining they could last all the way to Ryanec 5 without a harsh word between them."

Avon and Blake looked at one another simultaneously. "Oh, no..." broke from Blake's lips in disbelief.

"Oh, yes," replied Avon, breaking into a smile.

"No, it _can't_ be," the rebel leader insisted.

"Yes, Blake, I'm afraid it can," Avon maintained, his smile growing into a laugh.

Unaware they'd been "discovered", Dayna and the thief continued trading barbs, while Blake said with genuine goodwill to his companion, "Thank you for patching things up with Vila. I don't know what you said to him yesterday, but whatever it was, it's obvious that it did the trick."

Avon opened his mouth to respond in kind, then caught a glimpse over Blake's shoulder of Docholli entering the flight deck. Instantly his graciousness changed to poison. "At your instigation," he proclaimed, "we are once again about to walk into a highly dangerous situation. It's in everyone's interest--it's in _my_ interest--for each member of the group to be maximally functional. That includes sober."

Blake tracked the computer expert's eyes with his own, realized what had set him off, shook his head sadly and smiled. "All right, Avon, have it your way."

"I intend to try," Avon declared acidly. "Excuse me." He moved to the other side of the flight deck.

Docholli finished bidding farewell to Malkar and the others and walked over to Blake. "I came to say goodbye to everyone. Where's Avalon?"

"She should be here momentarily," Blake answered. "She's getting something for me." Already Tarrant had opened the entrance to the transfer tube, and Avalon's crew minus Avalon disappeared inside it one by one.

Now Docholli laid professional fingers on Blake's face and remarked in a quiet voice, "You haven't said anything to me about that scar."

The rebel leader looked bewildered. "Like what?"

"Like maybe you want me to fix it. I mean, even if you're not going to be having more extensive surgery."

Blake frowned. "What for?"

" _What for_?" the doctor repeated.

"Come on, Docholli, I haven't time for that." With exasperation, Blake turned away.

The cybersurgeon strolled over to Avon, who was finishing a conversation with Tarrant. "I see you haven't changed your mind about coming with us," Avon greeted him.

"No," Docholli replied softly, "I haven't." Then he added with a chuckle, "Your friend has no vanity, has he?"

"My friend?"

"Blake. I mentioned the possibility of fixing his scar, and he practically bit my head off."

Avon laughed. "No, vanity is not one of Blake's more prominent faults."

"But you'd think he might at least consider the impact on women," Docholli continued.

Avon laughed again and replied perversely, "Maybe he _is_ considering it," then added, "though I've never noticed it putting Soolin off any."

The object of that comment was now chatting briefly with Avalon, who had finally arrived on the flight deck. After saying goodbye to Avalon, Soolin and Deva moved off the flight deck, while Avalon moved on to Dayna, Vila, and Tarrant.

"Soolin?" Docholli exclaimed. "Soolin and Blake?"

"No, just Soolin," Avon corrected. "Blake isn't interested."

That piece of information seemed to shock the doctor even more than Blake's disinterest in his physical appearance. "Not interested?" he gasped. "In a woman like that? Why the devil not? Is he crazy?"

"Yes, probably," Avon murmured, "but that would hardly head my list of evidence for it."

"Gay?" persisted Docholli. "Damaged? Come on, tell me--what?"

"Just indifferent," Avon declared. "Blake is celibate, Doctor.  By choice."

"Are you serious?"

"Afraid so. He's married to the rebellion, you might say."

Docholli regarded the disdain in the other man's tone. "I take it you're not."

Avon smiled. "Hardly."

Avalon was about to hand something to Blake when she noticed Docholli chatting with Avon and approached them instead. Blake glanced at his chrono, a little concerned about the length of time they were remaining in the vicinity where they had supposedly been vaporized the day before. But the screens showed no other spacecraft of any kind in sight, and Orac maintained he could detect no evidence that anyone had detected them.

"It was nice spending time again with you, Avon," Avalon said graciously, shaking his hand.

"Was it?" he shot back.

"I'll say one thing," she continued. "The Federation could never build a convincing android of you like they did of me. They'd overshoot the mark trying to make it appear human."

"Have a safe trip home," Avon responded evenly.

Avalon turned to Docholli, and the two of them embraced. "Take care of yourself," she exhorted him. "I want you back."

"I want to _come_ back," he assured her.

"I'm sorry," Blake interrupted, taking the woman by the arm. "We're outside the time limit we set for staying here already."

"Yes, okay," she conceded, giving Docholli one last farewell pat on the chest. As Blake accompanied her to the transfer tube, she handed him a piece of paper. "This is the name and address."

He took it and put it in his pocket. "Thank you."

"You sure you want to go through with it?" she queried. "I mean, it's risky and--"

"Yes, I'm sure," Blake said firmly.

What now? Avon thought, moving closer to listen as the rebel leader continued. "I won't involve any of your people. I won't mention Iridian. Your prisoner's going to have to make some hard decisions if he wants to be with his family again, but you can tell him they're going to know he's alive--and that's for free."

Grasping what he was hearing, Avon could only shake his head. From the first time he'd watched Blake not kill Travis to the last time he'd watched Blake not kill Arlen, it seemed to the man that he'd spent a lifetime shaking his head at Blake...

Now Avalon was standing in the opening to the transfer tube. "Stay in touch," she whispered.

"You know it," Blake promised.

"Take care of Docholli."

"You know it," he repeated.

She leaned forward on a sudden impulse and gave him a comradely kiss. "Goodbye, Starchaser," she said.

"Apt name," Avon muttered under his breath, as Avalon disappeared inside the transfer tube.

Moments later the tube was retracted, the _Zebulon_ undocked from the other vessel and the latter on its way back to Iridian, carrying the rebels who had rescued Blake's rebels from Gauda Prime.

Docholli stood in silence before the main vu-screen, gazing wistfully at the planet he had come to call home, a home from which he would soon be separated by a vast distance in space for an indeterminate length of time. Blake laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. Their eyes met, and the doctor knew that Blake knew what he was feeling--and cared. Without a word having passed between them, the mysterious bonding process which seemed such a predictable consequence of being in Blake's presence had begun...

Then the rebel leader turned to the _Zebulon_ 's new pilot and issued the inevitable order. "Tarrant, lay in a course for Ryanec 5."

*****

"The ship's on automatic," said Tarrant, taking a seat beside Dayna in the lounge. "I've got Orac monitoring the detectors and hooked in to the alarm system, just in case."

"Fine," responded Blake from his seat between Avon and Vila on the sofa opposite to Tarrant's. "I put in a call for Soolin and Deva. They should be joining us momentarily."

"Together, I'll bet," the pilot predicted. The others looked at him. "Well, they have been spending an awful lot of time with each other," he added. "Or am I the only one who's noticed?"

"Do me a favor, Tarrant," Blake said pointedly. "Don't bet."

Vila giggled inanely. Dayna and Tarrant exchanged guilty glances.

"Ah, but he should have, Blake," Avon murmured, gesturing towards the entrance off the main corridor. The two crew members under discussion walked through arm in arm, conversing in quiet, intimate tones.

As they separated, Deva took a seat near the others while Soolin made a detour in the direction of the drinks dispenser. "Excuse me," Blake said, getting to his feet. "Anyone else care for a cup of--whatever?"

"Not unless it contains adrenalin and soma," Vila yawned. The others nodded no, and Blake reached the dispenser just as Soolin was turning from it, carrying her drink.

They exchanged smiles. "I see you're taking my advice about spending more time with Deva," Blake observed, dialing his choice.

"Yes," Soolin replied. "Why? Starting to regret it?" He flashed her a gently reproachful look. "Sorry," she mumbled, "That was uncalled for."

Blake collected his drink. "I'll be very happy for you both," he said, "if the two of you can be happy with each other."

"Well, you know what they say," the woman parried. "In this world you have to take your happiness where you can find it."

"Don't sell him short, Soolin," Blake cautioned earnestly.

"Oh, I'm not," she said fiercely, "believe me. That would mean I was selling myself short. And that's one thing you will never see me do--for any man."

He followed her back to the couches and resumed his original seat, as she sat close to Deva and offered him a sip from her cup. "Okay," he addressed the group. "I want everyone to be clear about our arrival on Ryanec 5. Officially the _Zebulon_ no longer exists, and no one's going to be expecting it back. But the inhabited portions of the planet are very well guarded by the Federation's most advanced space and air security systems. Trying to penetrate them would make running the blockade around Gauda Prime look like child's play."

"Marvelous," muttered Dayna.

"The _inhabited_ portions of the planet?" repeated Avon. "I thought this was a very civilized place."

"Oh, it is," Blake confirmed. "But there is one sector of it which is all mountainous terrain. No one's tried to live there since the Federation took over Ryanec 5, and it's not under surveillance because it's assumed no ship can land there."

"But you think we can," Tarrant surmised.

Blake nodded. "I came across something in my research with Orac that the Federation doesn't know about. There's an underground base accessible from the side of one of the mountains. It was used by explorers several hundred years ago, but they abandoned it because the company which sent them there changed its mind about settling the planet. You see, at that time, the climate as a whole was substantially different. There was extensive flooding in the lowland areas, and the mountains were actually the safest place to be."

"An underground base," Soolin pondered aloud. "It sounds like Xenon."

"From one familiar home to another for you," Avon observed.

Blake turned to Tarrant. "The landing will be a little tricky. But Orac has assured me a skillful pilot can manage it."

"Just as long as you can give me the coordinates," Tarrant replied confidently.

"Just as long as we don't have to crawl inside those crates again," Vila grumbled.

"Blake, what about equipping this ship with some state-of-the-art weaponry?" Dayna inquired.

"Yes, and what about that teleport business?" Deva added. "Not that I'm overly eager to try it."

"All in good time," the rebel leader assured them. "First things first."

"I should like to suggest," cut in Avon, "that one of the first things on our agenda ought to be getting hold of some Pylene-50 antidote for those amongst us who presently find themselves in the unfortunate--or perhaps I should say, fortunate--position of knowing that if they're caught, the Federation won't _need_ to resort to torture to extract information from them."

Blake met the computer expert's challenging gaze. "I'll try my best to remember that," he said wryly.

"Don't worry," Avon responded with passion. "I'll remind you."

At that moment, the newest member of their group wandered into the lounge. Seeing them all assembled there, he hesitated noticeably and asked, "Am I intruding?"

Blake responded with an exuberant gesture of inclusion and replied, "Of course not. As long as you are with us, you are one of us." To underscore the point, he made room for the cybersurgeon beside him on the couch.

"Oh, that sounds so beautiful, so poetic," Avon exulted mockingly. "But watch it, Doctor. That rose of graciousness harbors hidden thorns of profound obligation. If you don't believe me, ask Deva."

"Stop it, Avon!" Blake commanded angrily.

Docholli looked from one to the other with embarrassment. "Please, you two," he entreated. "Try to remember I'm only along for the short term."

"That's what they all say," Avon returned coyly. "That's what _I_ say--repeatedly." Blake continued to glare at him.

Incongruously Vila put his hands to his head and moaned, "Oh my aching cerebral cortex."

"You mean to tell us you _have_ one?" Dayna couldn't resist retorting.

"Lay off, Dayna," the thief whined. "Innit enough you took my money?"

" _My_ money," Avon inserted under his breath.

"I can't help it if I'm still a trifle hung over."

"That's all right, Vila," Blake said consolingly. "No one can." But he looked at Avon, not Vila, when he said it.

The computer expert didn't understand the remark, but he registered the tone of it accurately enough. "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

"On second thought," Blake replied, smiling, " _you_ I prefer _drunk_."

Vila erupted into one of his serial cackling spells. "That's good, Blake," he chortled.

Avon found the spectacle of the two of them sharing a secret at his expense intolerable. He got up, walked over to the thief, stood behind him and kneaded his shoulders with a pressure just short of painful: a gesture that seesawed between friendly massage and thinly veiled aggression. "Before you side with Blake, Vila," he cautioned, "allow me to point out that any danger you've incurred at my hands pales to insignificance beside the danger _he_ puts you in continually by virtue of the missions he drags you along on."

Blake heaved a sigh. "Isn't it nice, Avon, not to be in command anymore, not to have the responsibility for sending people on missions?"

"Yes, it is," Avon answered forcefully. "You'll never know how nice."

"That's right," Blake shot back. "I won't."

Avon released his grip on Vila's shoulders, scarcely noticing how the thief grimaced and wriggled around in response to the recent squeezing, for all his attention was now on the rebel leader. "You know, Blake," he said, "that martyr routine of yours starts to wear a little bit thin after awhile. The pain caused by spilling other people's blood somehow lacks the concrete immediacy of the pain caused by spilling one's own."

Soolin shook her head in angry disbelief, recalling Avon's own account of Blake's initial approach to rescuing him from the carimbula. "How can _you_ say _that_ to _him_?" she exploded. Deva laid a gentle hand on her arm.

Avon ignored her completely. He was staring at Blake, who was chewing on his fingers--it was like no one else in the room even existed for him. "That's right," he goaded. "Withdraw into yourself. Sit there broadcasting silent waves of anguish."

"Oh, really, this is too much," breathed Docholli, getting to his feet. He made his way past them all, muttering, "I refuse to be the cause of this."

"You're _not_ the cause, Doctor," Tarrant called after him. "You're the excuse."

"Yes," echoed Dayna. "You'll learn that in due time if you stay with us."

Blake followed the cybersurgeon's exit with his eyes and then turned his gaze back to Avon. " _You_ dare speak to _me_ about withdrawing?" he thundered. "You hold the original patent on the practice!"

Unfazed, Avon settled back down on the couch. "Yes, but my version is so much less pretentious."

Slowly Blake regained control of himself. "Tell me, Avon," he said quietly, "are we going to act like this every time Docholli walks into a room from now on?"

Avon locked eyes with him. "I don't know, Blake, are we?"

"I don't know, Avon." The tension between them remained unchanged, but with Docholli no longer present, the hostility was somehow draining out of it, and, in its place, a determination to find out what they didn't know was gradually building.

"Excuse me, I need a drink," Vila muttered. He started to rise, only to have Dayna and Tarrant on either side of him simultaneously push him back down.

"Excuse me, _I_ need to consult Orac," Blake declared.

"And I'm next," Avon added.

Already half-standing up, the rebel leader whirled on him. "Really?"

"Yes, really."

"Well, well, well."

"Are you going to take your turn?" Avon snapped impatiently. "Or are you going to stand there gawking at me?"

Blake swallowed hard and raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Just try to stay off the flight deck this time until I'm finished," he admonished.

Avon raised _his_ hands in a gesture of deference, as if to say, "I wouldn't dream of interrupting." Blake marched off in pursuit of Orac, and Avon retreated to the most private corner of the lounge he could find, presumably to wait his turn.

"I wonder what that was all about," Tarrant mused in bewilderment.

"So do I," Dayna agreed.

"Don't look at me," Vila said.

"Nobody was," Deva assured him with a mischievous twinkle.

"Sounds like that pool of yours wasn't the only secret around here," Soolin observed. "Sounds like Blake and Avon have one of their own."

But the sparring of the past half hour was starting to take its toll on those who'd witnessed it. A curtain of fatigue seemed to blanket the room. Slowly the pilot, the weapons expert and the thief yawned their way towards the sleep capsules.

*****

Left by themselves, the two natives of Gauda Prime took turns sipping what remained of the warm, sweet concoction in Soolin's cup. "Blake thinks we're lovers," the woman disclosed.

"No!" exclaimed Deva. "What's wrong with him? He usually reads people better than that."

"I know," Soolin returned coyly. "Interesting, isn't it?" She was remembering what Avon had said that time: Blake knows what people are going to do before _they_ know what they are going to do.

"It's ridiculous is what it is," Deva muttered. "You and me!" He stopped suddenly, noticing her expression. "It _is_ ridiculous--isn't it?"

Soolin grinned. "I don't know, is it?"

Deva stared at her. "What are you saying?"

"That I didn't tell him he was mistaken. After all, who can predict what might happen once we get to Ryanec 5?" She moved closer to him and lowered her voice, gesturing towards Avon, who remained far across the lounge, oblivious to them. "They stopped themselves this time." Deva frowned. "Blake and Avon. They stopped themselves. Didn't you notice?"

Evidently he hadn't, but now he seemed to be retracing the argument in his memory, and, as he mentally reviewed the end of it, he nodded assent. "Maybe we're not back to square one, after all," he suggested.

Soolin flashed him a smile of agreement. Blake and Avon, she thought with silent affection. One's too good to be real. The other's too real to be good... She still wasn't sure what that combination added up to, but she was very sure she planned on sticking around to find out.

*****

I gave my all.  
But I guess my all may have been too much,  
Cause Lord knows we're not getting anywhere.   
It seems we're always blowin'  
Whatever we've got goin',  
And at times it seems with all we've got,  
We haven't got a prayer.

Just once--  
Can we figure out what we keep doing wrong,  
Why the good times never last for long,   
Where are we going wrong?

Just once--  
I want to understand   
Why it always comes back to goodbye.  
Why can't we get ourselves in hand  
And admit to one another  
We're no good without each other,  
Take the best and make it better,  
Find a way to stay together...

Just once--  
Can we find a way to finally make it right,  
Make the magic last for more than just one night.  
I know we could break through it  
If we could just get to it--  
Just once.

(From "Just Once", sung by Quincy Jones and James Ingram)


End file.
